


Soil and Seed

by whatbecomes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Obi-Wan Kenobi, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Discussed Forced Pregnancy, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Ahsoka Tano, Omega Anakin Skywalker, TW/CW will be continually updated to minimise spoilers, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatbecomes/pseuds/whatbecomes
Summary: The mandate of soil and seed is at the heart of the Jedi Order. None may oppose it while the sages live, not even the son of the force.(Or: Anakin loses a battle and wins a war)
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 92
Kudos: 280





	1. Soil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: for the use of the word c**t and graphic sex.

Anakin collapsed in the red velvet recliner in front of the fire, shaking and shivering, teeth chattering so hard he was afraid they might chip. He caught the wampa fur blanket Padme threw at him and wrapped it around his fever-flushed body.

_Idiot! You’re cutting it real close this time, Skywalker. If you’d just taken care of this earlier like you should’ve you wouldn’t be in this situation…_

Just as his thoughts were taking a turn for the truly maudlin and pathetic, Padme slid in next to him, cocooning him in her small form. Their size difference should have made the position feel ridiculous, but with her arms around his waist, tight enough to feel held but not so tight his sore skin and aching chest protested, he felt safe and comforted. Padme nuzzled the back of his neck, breathing deep and even. His breathing slowed to match hers and little by little, his core temperature rose and his shivering ceased. The fire danced and flickered before the grate, casting strange shadows in low light. He watched them move, looking for patterns as Padme stroked whatever skin she could reach, scenting him, imprinting his skin with the promise of her presence: you’re not alone—everything’s going to be all right.

Sometime later, Anakin awoke to the sensation of fingers gliding through his hair, untangling knots, combing each strand to silken gold. He turned in Padme’s embrace until they were face to face.

“How’re you feeling?” She whispered.

“Sore. A little groggy.” He smiled and nuzzled her cheek, inhaling the familiar omega scent. She scented him in return. “Much better, thanks to you.”

She touched his jaw. “What do you want?”

Anakin tried to duck his head, but Padme caught him by the chin. Anakin swallowed.

“I don’t know.”

She slid her other hand down his body, over the wampa throw, until it rested lightly over his hip. She squeezed gently, but with unmistakable intent.

“I can help you through it, but only if you ask, only if you really want it.”

Anakin kissed her shoulder, nuzzling the petal soft skin. She even smelled of flowers. Nothing familiar to him, but unmistakably floral and fresh. So much more appealing than the sickly-sweet aromas of other omegas.

“I don’t know what I want. That’s the problem. I never know until it’s happening and by then…”

By then it’s too late to give consent, too late to do anything but sweat and ache and wail miserably into his pillow.

“I know it’s hard Ani, but you’ve been through this before. You know how you’re going to feel, what you’re going to want.” She kissed his palm, leaving behind an imprint of breath like steam on a mirror. “You’re gorgeous and I want to help you however I can, whether that’s in your bed or guarding your door.”

“I’m scared, Padme,” Anakin whispered.

Anakin’s fear was a strangling vine pricked with icy thorns, wrapped around his heart. It lived inside his chest and never thawed no matter how he ached and raged and burned with heat. It was permafrost, immune to every change. It couldn’t be wished away, couldn’t be pruned, excised, or pulled by the roots. It was a part of Anakin. It had been with him from the cradle, since Shmi Skywalker scrimped every credit she could earn or steal to buy back her infant son from the pleasure slavers of Tatooine—too late to do anything but try to put the pieces of her shy, sweet boy back together again.

Padme squeezed his hand. “I know you are.”

“Can we just lay here for a while?”

Padme kissed his forehead. “Of course.”

When Anakin woke again, he was a gently smouldering ember, shining with the diffuse like of Coruscant’s setting sun. Padme was sitting up with Anakin’s head in her lap, scrolling through documents on her hand-held holoprojector. Her fingers were threaded gently through his hair in a slack hold that tugged only slightly as Anakin shifted to a better position. Padme scratched lightly behind his ear and he shivered, catching the needy whine before it could emerge. He felt his cheeks flush.

 _So fucking needy_ , he thought.

Anakin turned over on his back so he was looking up at her. Padme turned off the holoprojector and met his gaze.

“What do you think?” She asked.

Anakin was beginning to feel restless, itchy under the skin in a way no scratching would remedy. He wanted to squirm and arch and stretch. He wanted his mother to hold him and he wanted to see Snips and make sure she was safe. He wanted…

“Not so good at thinking. More your department.”

Padme huffed. “I can’t do it for you this time.”

“I just want this to be over,” Anakin said, hearing the bone-deep weariness in his own voice.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to live like this.” 

“It’s just one week. One week in a year. You can do this, Anakin. You’re so strong. You’re the strongest man I know.”

“You mustn’t know very many men.”

“You’ve suffered and bled for the galaxy. You’ve sacrificed things that most people couldn’t dream to be without. You’ve given your life to the defence of others. All you need to do now is help yourself so you can go on helping others.”

“I don’t know how,” Anakin admitted. His body felt clumsy, weak, overheated. His mind was unspooling, thoughts floating away into the force before he could snatch them back. He was a mess. He had no idea how to begin putting himself back together again. He never did.

“Do you want me to show you?” Padme asked.

Anakin caught her hand and pressed it to the sensitive skin of his throat. Even that simple touch was almost too much. His nerves sung. He felt like even the barest touch would leave a bruise. Padme’s breath caught and her eyes darkened.

_Time to jump, Skywalker._

“Yes.” Anakin pulled Padme down until their lips brushed. “Yes,” he whispered.

Padme sprawled between his legs in the lull between round three and four, head propped on his chest, and told him about Nubian omegahood.

“I was thirteen when I presented. A year before my coronation. I already knew I wanted to go into politics and when I presented it was the best day of my life. Finally, I would be eligible to run for office. My mother and sister took it as a sign. An omega queen was a blessing. "Twice the woman,” they said.” Anakin frowned and Padme stroked his cheek until the harsh lines faded. “I know. Backwards thinking. Omegahood is no more feminine than alphahood is masculine, but they are traditional in many ways. The Naboo have always honoured the soil above the seed.”

Padme kissed a line from sternum to collar, brushing his sensitive nipples with her own as she knelt over his body. 

“We are soil, Anakin. On Naboo, the soil of one field that mixes with another enriches the whole valley.”

Padme kissed him, deep and slow. Her floral scent rose around them, tinged with the humidity of oncoming rain. Anakin’s scent rose to match hers: dryness and spice, a hint of honey and kindling smoke before the fire. Wet and dry. Rain and fire. They shouldn’t have worked together, but they did—oh, they _did_.

Anakin arched into the kiss, grinding them together where they were wet and aching. Padme kissed the wetness under his cheeks, kissed across his jaw to work the lobe of his ear between her teeth. Anakin bucked—whined. Padme touched him where he was slick and open, dropped to take him in her mouth as she slipped two fingers inside his clenching cunt.

“Please,” Anakin sobbed. “Padme, _please_.”

Padme kissed down his length and buried her nose in the downy hair of his crotch, inhaling. She removed her fingers, left Anakin whining into the pillow as she spread his thighs wide, opened him until the pink lips between his legs parted like flower petals. She buried her head between his lips, buried her tongue inside his cunt, lapped and sucked until he squealed and sobbed and begged, on the verge of coming. Only then did she give him her fist.

She clenched and Anakin came with a wail, clenching down on her fist as he pulsed around her fingers. His cock remained quiescent against his belly, as it had since she began stimulating his primary sex. She kissed it regardless, enjoying the soft skin against her lips, the way he smelled: musky with smoke and heat and honey.

Padme lay beside him and stroked his hair, marvelling at the way his skin shone bronze in the low light of her quarters, his hair gold, his eyes a blue so pale and bright they almost looked silver. He seemed entirely composed of precious metals. A man made to be worshipped.

Anakin was her precious friend, her companion in omegahood, her ally in the fight against the separatist forces; but just in this moment, she wondered what it might be like if he were hers.

Anakin left four days later, two days before his leave was set to end. He’d be back on the _Resolute_ soon enough and he had temple business to take care of before he could ship out. Ahsoka would be champing at the bit for some training and Obi-wan was overdue for a check-in.

He kissed Padme on the cheek on his way out, lingering to nuzzle behind her ear, take in one last lungful of her verdant scent before they were parted again for force knows how long.

Before he could draw back, Padme said, “If you ever need me again, I’ll be here.”

He whispered, “Thank you,” and fled before his blush could overtake his face.

The journey to the temple was quicker than usual, or maybe he was just lost in thought. Anakin blinked and there it was, a stone monolith of order and serenity. His home. His cage.

Anakin parked his speeder in the knight’s hangar and took a moment to centre himself in the force: _Knight Anakin Skywalker, beta-human of the Jedi Order is back and ready for action._

Anakin took a deep breath, let it out, smiled and made his way through the throng of warm bodied to the two lights in the maelstrom of force signatures who were waiting to welcome him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin/Padme on screen always made me cringe, but on paper they work a lot better. I adore Padme and, while this story is Obikin focused, I didn't want to strip her of agency or character in service of that end. In this sexually liberal galactic future, I think her role here is a nice compromise.  
> Enjoy.


	2. Freshly Tilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahsoka grows up and gets a clue. Anakin guides her through it.  
> Obi-Wan is having a No Good Very Bad War.

Anakin jerked awake, the force reverberating like a struck bell, full of light and panic. Anakin shook his head until the flare of light obscuring his vision faded and squinted into the darkness. He reached into the force, following the echoes of the disturbance to its source. He shot to his feet— _Snips!_

Anakin raced from the room and slammed through the connecting door into his padawan’s room. Empty. He checked the other rooms in their apartment, all her favourite lounging places, and found them empty too.

_Shit. She must be hiding._

Anakin closed his eyes— _I will not panic. This is nothing compared to what Obi-Wan went through with me_ —and reached again. The disturbance had almost completely faded, but Anakin’s skill with the force was second to none save Master Yoda, so he was able to follow the scant suggestion of ripples to their terminus— _there!_

Anakin pulled on a light robe and strode through the dark halls of the temple. It was the strange time of the morning between true night and dawn where there was the suggestion of light on the horizon. Violet rays through the temple’s breezeways cast strange shadows, far-off noise from the heart of the city had Anakin on alert. Something felt off. He was no Master Windu. Shatterpoints—points of possible divergence in the timestream—were a mystery to him, but there was an air of significance around this moment. The force—his oldest and truest companion—was humming all around him, pressing down, insisting that he didn’t screw this up.

Anakin reached the room of a thousand fountains and homed in on Ahsoka’s force signature. She was somewhere in the thick of the garden. Somewhere no one would find her accidentally. Anakin followed the pull of the force, let himself wander in a manner than wasn’t wandering until he—quite literally—tripped over his wayward apprentice.

Ahsoka didn’t even look up from where she was kneeling in front of one of the smaller waterfalls. She continued to stare into the rippling water, radiating hopeless misery, stinking of grief and shame and…

Anakin blinked.

“Oh, Snips,” he breathed.

His chest ached. He dropped to his knees beside her.

He slipped an arm around her and tugged. He expected resistance, but she folded into his arms easily, climbing into his lap like a child. She buried her face in his shirt and let out a single, heart-rending sob.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said.

She shook her head, a furious little gesture, but otherwise didn’t react.

“I know you don’t think it will, but I promise it will get better.”

Her doubt resonated through their training bond, her impotent denial of what was happening, her anger that he, _a beta,_ would dare pretend like he had any idea what she was going through.

Anakin swallowed, and after a moment of indecision, let Ahsoka see his guilt, his shame, the cauldron of mixed feelings her presentation had stirred up in him.

Ahsoka pulled back and looked at him, radiating confusion. “Master, I don’t understand.”

She smelled of salt and fresh cedar: clean and bright and woodsy. The powdery softness of her girlhood scent was already fading. Anakin bent to inhale its vestiges, feeling strangely mournful.

“Come with me,” he said.

Anakin led Ahsoka through the temple to the halls of healing. When Ahsoka saw where they were going she froze and began to panic. “Master, please no!” She begged.

Anakin dropped to his knees in front of her and held her hands. “Do you trust me?”

Ahsoka searched his eyes. Her panic began to fade. She nodded.

Her squeezed her hands in reassurance and led her into a room at the far end of the hall. The lights came on as they entered, bright and sterile, and the med droid came out of sleep mode.

“How may I be of assistance?” It asked.

Anakin opened its master control panel and took it off network. Once it was disconnected from the temple system, he waved Ahsoka forward.

“You took it offline?” She asked.

“Just off the network. Anything it does now won’t be recorded even if I put it back in.”

Ahsoka’s eyes widened. “Master…”

Anakin cupped her head and tugged gently on her padawan beads. “I’d never endanger you no matter what, okay?”

“But the council…won’t you get in trouble?”

Anakin let his soft smile morph into a shit-eating grin. “Not if they don’t catch me.”

Ahsoka shook her head, but she was matching his grin.

Anakin directed her up onto the table and held her hand while the med droid did a scan and confirmed what they both already knew.

“Omega,” she said, dark skin paling to a sickly mauve. “My life’s over.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re a _beta_. The temple doesn’t expect anything of you. It’s Master Obi-Wan and I who…” She paled further, looking panicked. “You don’t think they’ll assign us—”

“No!” Anakin grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her steady. “Absolutely not. I’d fight them all off if I had to and Obi-Wan would resign before he ever accepted that order.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” Anakin smiled weakly. “Besides, you’re species-incompatible. Nothing would come out of it. A force compatible couple isn’t a biologically compatible one.”

“Right. Duh. Sorry, I’m just…not thinking.”

“It’s fine, Snips. I get it.”

They lapsed into silence as the med droid continued its work.

The med droid prescribed blockers and suppressants: standard issue for all omegas in the republic army during wartime. It would suppress heats as long as allowances were made to take heat leave one week per year—something Anakin was guilty of putting off until he absolutely no longer could. Temple-registered omegas—ostensibly all omegas in the order—were rostered heat leave, but since Anakin was passing for a beta, he had to use regular leave, which left him vulnerable to spontaneous recall, council summons and any number of unavoidable inconveniences. But no matter how inconvenient it was, how hard it was to lie, to live a lie every day, it was infinitely better than the alternative.

Omega jedi only had one future in the order, one duty that transcended all others. It didn’t matter whether you wanted kids, whether you wanted to raise them outside the order or not, whether you wanted to have one or a dozen; from the moment you presented as a youngling, all omega jedi knew they would be bearing the children of whichever alpha the council deemed most compatible. They would still have other duties, of course, but they would always be secondary to continuing the legacy of the order. Once the council found out, once the war was done, Ahsoka would be paired and bred as soon as possible. Her fertile years would be spent pregnant more often than not, and only in her menopausal years would she be allowed to take the kind of dangerous missions she thrived on. It was a bleak future for such a promising young jedi—a future Anakin had also stared down the barrel of, shuddered at and despised.

A future he’d said no to.

Ahsoka stared at the suppressants in her lap with dead eyes. She flipped the cap off the bottle of blocker serum and took a cautious sniff.

“It doesn’t smell like anything, but it does the trick. A drop behind each ear, the base of the throat, elbows, knees and groin if you think you’re going to be sweating.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “Master, I know how to—”

She froze.

Anakin stared at the opposite wall, unable to meet her eyes.

“Human boys know from birth. We’re hermaphroditic like alpha females, so it’s easier to tell. We don’t have to wait until puberty like alpha males and omega females.”

“You’re…”

“You’re going to be okay. I know you are, because we’re going to hide you the same way I’ve been hiding, okay?”

Ahsoka stared. Anakin met her gaze.

He squeezed her shoulder. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered. She swiped the wetness under her eyes. “Okay. How do we do this?”

Anakin made them tea once they got back to their apartment. Lemon, ginger and whwyyr root: a deeply relaxing force restorative. Ahsoka sipped hers gratefully, eyes slipping closed as she slumped into the two-seater beside Anakin.

“Didn’t they check you when you came to the temple? Y’know…do a physical?”

“I was a healthy kid and my mother paid to have my paperwork altered after…well. I was a slave on Tatooine and that life’s bad enough without being an omega. Hiding’s how I’ve always survived.” Anakin stared into his teacup, looking for patterns in the licks of steam. “Med droids are easy to trick and the temple healers probably didn’t see the need to double check the results of a healthy kid whose paperwork all checked out.”

“You were lucky.”

Anakin’s smile felt odd on his face—a little bitter, a little strained. “I’ve never thought about it like that before, but…yeah. I guess.”

Ahsoka was silent. Too silent.

“Snips?”

She fiddled with her teacup. “Does Master Obi-Wan know?”

Anakin sighed. “No.”

“But you’re so close…”

Anakin hid his flinch. Not close enough. Given the choice between Anakin and the precious Jedi Code, Anakin knew which Obi-Wan would choose.

“No one knows Snips. No one but you.”

To his surprise, Ahsoka smirked and crossed her arms. “Uh huh,” she said, plainly disbelieving. “What about that senator you’re gaga for?”

Anakin spluttered. “Padme has nothing to do with—

“—Aha! I never said it was Padme.”

Ahsoka smiled smugly.

Anakin rubbed his face. “Ugh, fine. Yes, apart from Padme.”

Ahsoka turned to face him, suddenly giddy. She was nearly bouncing in her seat. Anakin had a bad feeling, the kind of bad feeling he got before he was the butt of another one of his padawan’s terrible jokes at his expense.

“So, if you’re not a beta…what do you guys _do_ together?”

Anakin flushed bright red. “None of your business!”

“Oh, come on Master! If I’m going to be passing for a beta, I might need to find my own omega for long, lonely—”

Anakin sprung from his seat like he’d been electrocuted, wishing he could erase the last thirty seconds from his memory. Ahsoka burst into giggles.

“No! You’re sixteen. I don’t want to hear about it. You’re too young to be thinking like that and _I’m_ too young to be hearing about it.”

“Not _that_ young master. You’re in your mid-twenties. That practically _ancient_ for we, the most sacred child bearers of the force.” Ahsoka clasped her hands in front of her chest and made a thoughtful face reminiscent of the wizened Sages of the Soil and Seed. “May your womb be verdant, your seed be true, and your hearts and minds aligned with the most holy and sacred living force!”

Anakin planted his hands on his hips, but couldn’t resist the smile tugging at his mouth. He shook his head. “You shouldn’t mock them.”

“Why? They’re old cranks.”

“Old cranks who could make both our lives very difficult if we’re not careful.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes and Anakin had the uncomfortable realisation that this must have been how Obi-Wan felt whenever Anakin mouthed off to him, which was pretty much always. It’s a wonder they got through Anakin’s padawan years with their friendship intact.

_Speak of the devil…_

The door to their apartment slid open and Obi-Wan stepped through, shading his eyes from the bright lights. His eyes were blurry, unfocused. Undoubtedly, he’d expected to find them both in bed at this late hour. Ahsoka’s giggles trailed off.

Anakin offered his master a smile he hoped didn’t look strained. “How was your mission?”

Obi-Wan collapsed into the armchair opposite them. Anakin joined Ahsoka on the sofa, sending her a quelling look. She nodded.

Obi-Wan rubbed his face, oblivious to their exchange in a way he could only be counted on to be after very long missions when his bandwidth was basically non-existent and he was longing for a soft mattress.

“More of the same, I’m afraid. Fighting, negotiating, sneaking, more fighting.”

“When do you redeploy?”

“Three days.”

Anakin grimaced. “Not much downtime.”

Obi-Wan hummed, neither upset nor happy. His master had always had an enviable equilibrium, but these days that balance seemed less like an advantage and more like a stick he used to beat down battle-fatigue. Anakin wondered, as he often did these days, if Obi-Wan wasn’t just numb.

“You two are up early,” Obi-Wan said, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

Ahsoka stiffened. Anakin touched her hand, sent _stay calm_ down their bond.

“Just chatting,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, looking more awake.

“Anything you want to tell me?”

Anakin smiled and shook his head, keeping his body loose and relaxed. “Nah. Just teenager stuff. Right, Snips?”

Ahsoka squirmed, plainly embarrassed. “ _Master._ ”

Obi-Wan coughed into his fist, hiding a smile. “Right. Well, ah, I’ll leave you to it.”

“You don’t want to crash here?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, looking rueful. “Not if you’re up. I was just going to nap on the sofa for a couple of hours before the council meeting. I returned early and Quin’s using my room until tomorrow. I think I’ll just go meditate.”

_Oh, no you don’t._

Anakin was up and across the room before Obi-Wan could finish martyring himself. He grabbed him by the arm and steered him towards Anakin’s room. “Anakin, please…I don’t need—”

“Nope, not gonna listen. No time for the Obi-Wan Kenobi martyr party today.”

“ _Anakin_.”

The door swished open and closed on Ahsoka’s laughter. Anakin crossed his arms and stood in front of the door. When Obi-Wan continued to glare at him, he raised an eyebrow—slowly.

“Don’t _do_ that.”

Anakin smirked. “I learned from the best.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Obi-Wan, apparently deciding protesting wasn’t going to get him anywhere, began shucking his robes. Because he was far more sleep deprived than he was letting on, the process was laborious and, well, _hilarious_. He looked like a wampa tangled in durasteel cable, struggling to get free. By the time he got down to his undertunic, Obi-Wan was red-faced and sweating, and Anakin was barely holding back a grin at the sight of his buttoned-up master all dishevelled.

Obi-Wan shot him a scathing look. “Not. A. _Word_.”

Anakin mimed zipping his lips and waited until Obi Wan had finished crawling beneath his sheets before he flicked off the lights.

He was just about the leave when Obi-Wan’s voice stopped him. Shock zipped down their training bond—so overdue for severing that they’d both come to the unspoken agreement that they were never actually going to do it—and he let out a sharp noise Anakin didn’t know how to interpret.

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan’s tone was wary, threaded with an undercurrent of something he had no reference for, something that set his hackles rising. “You’re being careful, yes?”

“Uh…”

“I only mean that when you’re… _entertaining_ it’s prudent to, ah, _protect_ against all eventualities.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, honestly baffled.

Obi-Wan huffed and sat up. In the semi-dark of Anakin’s bedroom, his pale eyes reflected the city lights, lending him an electric intensity that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Anakin straightened. 

“I only mean…” Obi-Wan scrubbed the back of his neck. Their bond rang with bashfulness, awkwardness, _embarrassment?_ “I hope that when you bring guests back here, you’re taking the proper precautions.”

“Master!” Anakin yelped, sounding even more scandalised than he felt.

Obi-Wan’s hands flew up defensively. “Anakin, calm down.”

“You calm down! Who the hell just brings that up? In case you didn’t notice, I’m almost twenty-five. I’m a _man_. I don’t need you to—” Anakin felt himself go red. “—to give me the _sex talk_.”

Obi-Wan radiated affront. “I’m not!”

“Well you’re doing a damn good impression of it!”

They stared at each other.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said tiredly. “I can _smell_ omega on these sheets. I only brought it up because I don’t remember us ever talking about betas and omegas. Even though it’s rare, a beta _can_ get an omega pregnant you know.”

Anakin slammed his shields into place, cutting Obi-Wan off from the sudden surge of alarm, the sirens in his head screaming _danger!danger!_ Obi-Wan didn’t bring designations up often and it was so very easy to forget that he was an alpha with an alpha’s strong nose and an alpha’s memory for scents. That was _Anakin_ ’ _s_ scent on his sheets, leftover from when he’d collapsed after training yesterday at the tail-end of his blocker lifecycle. He’d showered and reapplied once he’d woken up and hadn’t thought of it again. As a supressed omega, it was rare for his scent to bleed through even without blockers, but this close to heat there would be unavoidable slips. In his defence, he hadn’t anticipated anyone sleeping in his bed but him. Also in his defence, he couldn’t smell _anything._ Obi-Wan must have a super nose, or maybe he was just attuned to Anakin after so long living in each other’s pockets.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, beginning to sound concerned.

“Just…I’m fine. I know. And even if I _didn’t_ know, I’m not an idiot. I’d search the holonet or got to the library or talk to a healer or do _literally anything_ except knock on my old master’s door and ask him for sex advice.”

Obi-Wan spluttered. “That’s not what I’m—”

“—I’m not a _kid_ , Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan looked at him, expression indefinable. Eventually, he smiled. “I know.”

Anakin shook his head. “Go to sleep, Master.”

The door slid open. “Oh, and Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan made an inquiring noise.

“ _Never_ talk to me about my sex life again…unless you’re planning on being a part of it.”

The door shut on Obi-Wan’s shocked splutter. Anakin collapsed against the wall with laughter, meeting Ahsoka’s bright gaze across the room.

Ahsoka grinned. “What was that about?”

He sat beside her and pulled her into a one-armed hug, tugging on her beads. “You don’t even want to know, Snips.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love awkward, stuffy, old man Obi-Wan. He's like 33 and already 60. It's great.


	3. Deadheads, Pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Windu loses his way. Obi-Wan has his foundations rocked. Anakin is the only sane one around (Force help them all).
> 
> TW/CW: discussions of forced bonding (non-con) and generally icky power dynamics surrounding ABO biology.

Depa Billaba stood beside her padawan, which was shocking in and of itself under the circumstances. What was even more shocking was the way she stood, straight-backed and proudly defiant before her own master, Mace Windu, who had always cast a tall shadow inside and outside the force.

Caleb Dume knelt at his master’s feet, shivering and shaking, seemingly grounded only by Depa’s solid grip on his shoulder.

 _This exercise in humiliation is beyond the pale_ , Obi-Wan thought, and not for the first time. Anakin and Ahsoka stood beside him, each displaying their anger openly. Obi-Wan sent _calm yourself_ down their connection, but Anakin rebuffed it, slamming his shields up, intent on stewing in his own fury. Obi-Wan held back a sigh but couldn’t quite summon up any real disapproval. He had his own anger, after all. It would be hypocritical.

Anakin twitched like he was going to step forward, and Obi-Wan caught his sleeve. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Anakin bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. “This is bullshit. They shouldn’t have to stand there like that.”

Privately, Obi-Wan agreed, but his instincts told him to stand back.

“Wait,” Obi-Wan said, sending him a meaningful look.

Anakin paused, some of his anger releasing into the force. Understanding passed between them, instinct honed from years of shared combat missions: wait for the opportune moment.

Anakin nodded and bent to whisper something to Ahsoka. She tensed, briefly looking as furious as her master, before she also nodded.

Obi-Wan released his tension to the force and took in the room around them. The ovatic chamber of the Sages of the Soil and Seed was packed with practically every jedi not currently on the front lines. The summons had come suddenly in the early hours of the morning while Obi-Wan was still sleep-drunk and weary from another overdue return. It had been four months since his last proper leave, only three weeks since he’s seen Anakin and Ahsoka orbiting Rigeron IV, and they were all dead on their feet. To be called here at the crack of dawn for something as simple as a late presentation was, frankly, too outlandish to be believed.

_Which means it must be something more serious._

Mace raised a hand and the conversation in the room fell to silence.

“Caleb Dume, you are called here today to face your masters,” Master Windu said, unusually solemn. Over his shoulder, two sages stood, ready to take Caleb into the chamber of soil for inspection and…well, whatever was done to newly presented omegas. Obi-Wan had only ever been to the chamber of seed himself and was glad of it. By all accounts, it was the less invasive of the two.

“You are charged with wilful obstruction of order ceremony.” Master Windu met his former padawan’s eyes briefly. “Be advised that this is a charge of treason.”

Shocked voices rose around the room. Caleb’s face whitened and his master’s hand on his shoulder seemed to be the only thing holding him up. Obi-Wan’s mind blanked with shock and creeping horror. Anakin leaked rage even through his shields and Ahsoka had both hands over her mouth, eyes large and fixed on her friend.

“Lower treason,” Master Depa said, sudden and cutting, “and in name only.”

“Name only is enough.”

“In your eyes, it would seem so.”

Master Shaak Ti let out a hiss between her teeth. Master Plo Koon put a hand on her arm, radiating calm in the rising chaos of the chamber.

“Silence!” Mace called. The room fell into disgruntled silence. “This is not a hearing. It is a sentence.”

Anakin sent him an alarmed look, pale and shocky. Obi-Wan, who wasn’t faring much better, could only stare back. Charges of treason, however minor, were always held before the full council. For Master Windu to be passing sentence here with only four of the other council members present, Obi-Wan included, and not even discussing it with them first, was so far outside his expectations for this meeting Obi-Wan could barely comprehend it.

_This doesn’t feel real…_

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said urgently.

Mace waved the sages forward. Depa blocked their path. Mace tensed and locked gazes with his former padawan.

_But it is._

“We have to do something,” Anakin said.

But what could they do against Mace Windu? With Master Yoda off planet, he was acting grand master of the order. The grand master’s power, while not absolute, eclipsed those of the council members to such a degree as to be laughable. His will _was_ the will of the council.Already Obi-Wan could feel the tide of mixed feelings in the chamber swaying in Mace’s direction. They assumed, like Obi-Wan might have if he wasn’t privy to council dealings, that this was a council approved decision—that Mace spoke _for_ them.

“Step aside, Padawan,” Mace said, a note of warning in his voice.

Depa stared up at her former master, refusing to be cowed. “I am not your padawan and neither is Caleb. He is not yours to punish.”

“This is not a punishment. It is a sentence.”

They locked gazes, something unspoken passing between them.

“Don’t make me do this, Mace.”

Depa touched her saber.

A ripple of shock moved through the room.

Obi-Wan stepped forward. Anakin joined him, ignoring Obi-Wan’s mental entreaty for him to _stay back_. Ahsoka, thankfully, had better sense than her master and remained where she was.

Obi-Wan tucked his hands inside his sleeves and regarded the tense scene with reserves of cool patience he no longer had. Luckily for him and the many mission he’d taken at the very end of his tether, he was well accustomed to faking it.

“Well, this getting slightly out of hand. We’re all allies here, after all.”

“Stand aside, Kenobi. This doesn’t concern you.” Mace said.

“I’m afraid it does, Master Windu, seeing as charges of treason are to be judged in council and the matter of Caleb Dume has not been brought before the council.” Murmurs rose around the chamber. “Unless you had such a session without me present.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Master Plo Koon’s mask, saw him nod incrementally.

Master Plo stepped forward. “I too missed such a meeting.”

Shaak Ti didn’t speak but allowed her consensus to ring in the force. It echoed around the room like a blaster shot, leaving shocked silence in its wake. 

“I conferred with Master Yoda,” Mace bit out. “We are in agreement on this matter.”

“Ah, so the jedi council is a council of two now, is it?”

Mace growled, alpha scent rising bitter and acrid to floor the room with the smell of scorched earth. “You go too far, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan’s scent, always kept tightly under control in deference to others, flared and cut through the scorch of Mace’s scent like a winter wind. The whole room seemed to shudder. Anakin swayed and Obi-Wan steadied him, shooting him a concerned look. Anakin looked briefly startled, like an animal with its foot in a trap, but rallied quickly. He squared up next to Obi-Wan, meeting Mace’s glare head on, making it clear whose side he was on and what Mace was up against.

Mace grit his teeth and composed himself, releasing his anger into the force. After a moment he looked down at Caleb, still trembling at his feet: his grand-padawan.

_I could never look at Ahsoka like that…_

“I am greatly disappointed with you,” he said. Caleb shrunk in on himself, growing impossibly smaller. He looked at Depa. “ _Both_ of you.”

“Caleb is an exceptional padawan. I have no regrets,” Depa said simply.

“Then you will be punished as equals.”

Mace glanced at Obi-Wan, expression darkening briefly before it smoothed out again. “The council will meet in an hour. Dismissed!”

As the ovatic chamber emptied, Ahsoka rushed to her friend’s side. She dropped to her knees in front of Caleb and dragged him into a hug, speaking quickly and quietly under her breath. Depa stood beside them, a silent sentinel standing guard. Her face was blank and might have been taken for serene if Obi-Wan didn’t have so much experience parsing her most minute facial expressions. Either she’d developed another sabaac face in the last twenty-four hours or she’d shut down completely and was feeling nothing. Obi-Wan’s money was on the latter.

“What in the ninth circle of sith’s hell was that?” Anakin hissed.

That was a _very_ good question. One he had no good answer for.

Obi-Wan glanced at the door where Mace had fled, where Plo Koon and Shaak Ti were lingering, speaking quietly.

“I’m not sure. I think we’re about to find out.”

They met in the master’s hanger while the rest of the temple was gossiping in the mess hall. Shaak Ti, hunched in on herself, looked worryingly troubled; and even serene, unbothered Plo Koon had his arms crossed.

 _Not good_ , Obi-Wan thought. _Extremely not good._

 _You’ve got that right, Master,_ Anakin sent across their bond. _When the unshakeables are shaking you know shit’s gone down._

Obi-Wan shot him an exasperated look that Anakin felt zero remorse for. _Be serious, Padawan._

 _Not your Padawan,_ Anakin shot back, sing-song.

Plo looked amused, but the silent exchange (thankfully) seemed to go right over Shaak Ti’s head.

“This is a troubling circumstance,” she said.

“You think?” Anakin said.

“ _Anakin_.”

Anakin crossed his arms and huffed. “Seriously, am I the only one that saw Windu fall completely off his rocker back there?”

Obi-Wan fought the urge to bury his head in his hands. “I think what my former apprentice is trying to say is that _Master_ Windu was unusually unbalanced today. I have never known him to circumvent the council.”

“Neither have I,” Plo said, “but then, he has never had to formally discipline a jedi of his line before.”

“You believe that is what swayed his judgement?” Shaak Ti asked.

“It’s possible. He is human. Humans are a more tribal species, prone to instincts many have long evolved past. He is a dominant of his species. Learning a submissive was not heeding his authority may have skewed his judgment.”

Obi-Wan frowned, ready to interject, but Anakin beat him to it.

“That doesn’t count for shit.” Anakin jerked a thumb at Obi-Wan. “Obi-Wan’s an alpha too and _he_ wasn’t losing his marbles at the first sign of disobedience when _I_ was his padawan—and believe me, he had _a lot_ of opportunities.”

“That’s not quite the way I would have phrased it, but Anakin is essentially correct. An alpha is only at the mercy of their hormones when they allow themself to be. Whatever loss of control Master Windu experienced today he permitted at least subconsciously.”

“You believe he wished to indulge these…primal instincts?” Shaak Ti asked.

Obi-Wan shied away from the term— _primal instincts, like we’re nothing more than rutting animals_ —but accepted it as essentially accurate.

“I cannot speculate, but…” He remembered Mace’s scent, the way it rose suddenly and ferociously, like banked dam finally allowed to burst. “It is clear he was not in control.”

“On that we can all agree,” Plo said, sounding troubled.

It took Obi-Wan a moment to register the strange tingling of his skin—a prickle of awareness he always felt when Anakin looked at him. He raised an eyebrow at his former apprentice, questioning.

“You should speak to him before the council meeting,” Anakin said.

“What good would that do?” Obi-Wan asked, surprised by the strangely thoughtful cast to Anakin’s face. He looked older, wiser, more beautiful.

“You’re both alphas on the council. Chances are, if this is territorial, you’re going to butt heads in the chamber.” Anakin shrugged. “Maybe clearing the air beforehand will help with any unwanted aggression.”

Plo hummed, pleased. “An astute observation, young Skywalker. I agree.”

“Yes,” Shaak Ti said, “Early intervention may be our best chance of diffusing the conflict before it escalates further.”

Obi-Wan sent Anakin a smile he hoped didn’t appear too strained. Wariness curled deep in his gut. He was already stretched thin. Months of unending battle where he was constantly forced to clamp down on a steady tide of primal, protective rage meant his control was in tatters. Oh, there was fabric enough to knot together a passable net, catch any stray urges big enough to make ripples in the force, but there were holes enough for something to slip through. Knowing his luck, it wouldn’t be anything small.

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you all on the hour then.”

Master Windu had retreated to one of the training rooms overlooking the metropolis. He sat in the dark, folded into lotus on one of the many youngling training mats. Obi-Wan let his scent—a hint of frost and ozone—float ahead of him into the room and waited for a reaction. Sure enough, Mace tensed, teeth bared in a white slash. He only made the effort to relax when Obi-Wan sat opposite him and the force rang with recognition.

“This is unwise,” Mace said, sounding tired. He opened his eyes and met Obi-Wan’s gaze squarely.

“Your actions today were unwise,” Obi-Wan countered.

Mace’s scent rose. He smelled like a field put to the torch. “That is none of your concern.”

“It is entirely my concern, as a member of the council…and your friend.” Mace broke eye contact. Obi-Wan took the opening. “What’s going on, Mace? You have always been a strict disciplinarian, but it is not like you to break with protocol so blatantly—and in the matter of your grand-padawan. It is a cruelty I did not expect from you.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me. Why did you only go to Master Yoda? Why conspire in secret? And, if you were going to, why expose it to the public?”

“ _That_ was not my idea. The sages wished to make an example of the boy and I have no recourse for circumventing such matters.”

“An example of what?”

“He hid himself, Obi-Wan. He and Depa conspired to hide from me and he is to be secluded with the temple sages until such a time they deem him ready.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Ready for what, Mace?”

“What do you think?” Mace bit out. His scent swelled again, losing all trace of greenery, until it was just fire and smoke and ruin.

Obi-Wan breathed through his mouth to avoid the smell but could still taste ashes on his tongue.

“It will take them months to re-educate him,” Mace said, voice swollen with something indefinable but oh so familiar.

 _He’s sad_ , Obi-wan realised with a jolt. _Sad_ and _relieved._

“You don’t want him gone,” Obi-Wan said. Mace tensed. “But you do. Explain that to me.”

“It’s not your business.”

“It will be council business unless you can give me a reason why I shouldn’t bring it up inside the chamber.”

Mace shot him a dirty look that Obi-Wan bore with the remains of his tattered patience.

“He’s mine, Obi-Wan.” Mace sounded wrecked, broken, _scared._

There was no need to clarify. Obi-Wan’s shock morphed into horror.

“But he’s just a boy.”

“He’s of breeding age,” Mace said, rote, like he was reciting someone else’s words.

“What did the sages tell you?”

“That outside of disciplinary tribunal there was no circumventing the mandate of soil and seed. It takes precedence over everything except the war, and since Caleb is a non-essential padawan, not even that.” Mace met his eyes. He was drained of anger, expression dark and weary with the weight of his troubles. “Punishment is the only recourse I have to spare him this violation.”

It all made sense; such terrible, cruel sense.

“Have you spoken to Depa?”

His jaw clenched. “I tried. The perceived injustice was too great for her. She refused to go along with it.”

“Perceived injustice? Mace…no matter the circumstance, this is cruel. He’s a seventeen-year-old padawan who wishes to serve the republic and the order, not a traitor.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. But if it were you in his shoes, what would you choose? Expulsion from the order or a life inside it as the broodmare for a man you see only as a father?”

Mace glanced out the window, gaze far away. “There is no right answer here, Obi-Wan. Yoda and I turned over every possibility. The mandate of soil and seed is absolute. There is no escaping it inside the order. Caleb’s only salvation will come from cruelty.”

Obi-Wan sat at the bar and drank until his head felt stuffed with stars. His gaze roamed the room and took nothing in. The world was a haze of silver and gold intercut with blurs of shade and colour that held no meaning he wished to interpret.

He rested his head on the bar and wished he was home in bed. Then he remembered that home was what he was desperately trying to avoid and wished for another bed, any bed.

 _A stranger’s bed would do nicely,_ he thought.

He squinted and the blurs of colour and shade slowly resolved into beings of various size, shape and skin colour. He didn’t bother trying to find an attractive scent. In a bar like this, it was too muddled with scents to possibly discern one from the pack. The reek of liquor alone was enough to muffle his sense of smell, the crush of sixty or so other bodies only compounded the problem.

Obi-Wan was looking for the barman when he felt a hand come down on his shoulder. It was only long engrained familiarity with Anakin’s prostheses that kept him from reaching for his saber.

“Force, Anakin,” he said, except it came out more like _fthhh A’kin_.

Anakin squeezed in next to him at the bar. In the claustrophobic crush of bodies, he was pushed close enough that they were pressed together from hip to shoulder, Anakin’s front to his side. Anakin’s hair was a mess, like someone had run their fingers through it and had a lot of fun mussing it up. There was a light dusting of pink on his cheeks and his eyes—as blue and deep as a Nubian ocean—were lit with some indescribable emotion.

Normally, Obi-Wan could parse Anakin rather easily. He was such an open book, especially to his old master, but Obi-Wan was rather pissed and was having trouble thinking at all, let alone interpreting the variances of human emotion on a face, even one so fine as Anakin’s. 

Quite suddenly, Anakin grinned. “Wow, you’re really drunk, huh?”

_Have his teeth always been that white?_

“Obviously,” Obi-Wan said, aiming for scathing, but his slur was so pronounced he feared tonal intent was lost entirely.

Anakin laughed, displaying the long, sun-kissed line of his neck.

_Has his neck always been that delightfully long?_

Anakin intercepted Obi-Wan’s drink as soon as it hit the bar. He downed it in three large swallows. Obi-Wan watched his throat undulate, strangely hypnotised by the sight. Anakin licked his lips. Warmth curled in Obi-Wan’s belly that had little to do with the liquor.

“Time to go,” Anakin said cheerfully. Anakin slipped an arm around his waist and tugged, but Obi-Wan clung to the bar and refused to be moved. _Can’t go home. Not yet_.

Anakin shot him a wry look. “Come on master, off to bed.”

Obi-Wan focused on controlling his tongue, which felt less like the steadfast instrument of verbal flaying the negotiator used to bring separatists to their knees and more like the useless flabby sack of meat it actually was.

“Can’t,” he said, and miracle of miracles, it actually sounded like standard.

“Why not?”

“Can’t sleep there,” he said.

“You want to sleep with me?”

Obi-Wan shot him an alarmed look, feeling suddenly, terrifyingly sober.

Anakin flushed bright red. “Not like that! Just…in our rooms. Mine and Ahsoka’s. I don’t like you being all alone, especially when you’re like this.”

Obi-Wan relaxed. “M’fine.”

“You’re _not_ , but since you admitting you’re not fine would be one of the signs of the galactic apocalypse, I’m just gonna take the opposite of whatever you say as truth, kay?”

Obi-Wan shot him a sour look. “I hate you.”

“Aw, love you too.”

This close, the planes of his face were gilded golden and the shadowed hollows beneath his cheekbones and jaw gleamed like obsidian. Anakin was uncommonly lovely. He had been for a long time. Long enough that on night’s like this, when his guard was down and Anakin was standing too close, it was impossible to ignore, impossible to look anywhere else.

Anakin searched his face, expression turning thoughtful. It was a frighteningly good look on him. “What do you want, Obi-Wan?”

“You.”

Anakin flushed, beautiful blue eyes widening. “What?”

_Oh, fuck me sideways, what the FUCK Kenobi?_

“—to take me home to bed to…sleep. Yeah, sleep,” he said, praying to every god he could think of that he looked drunk enough to make the lapse work. Drunks, proper drunks, people who were _properly drunk_ like him could get away with drifting off in the middle of a sentence. Or at least, they should be able to.

Anakin swallowed, eyelashes fluttering.

_Have his eyelashes always been that long?_

“Course,” Anakin said. He cleared his throat and this time when Anakin attempted to pull him from his chair, Obi Wan didn’t resist.

Obi-Wan woke with the horrible feeling that he’d done something truly and unforgivably stupid. He rolled on his back and stared at the familiar water stain above his bed in pensive silence. It was only when his reached blindly for his holoprojector and instead touched a familiar mop of golden curls that he froze.

_Oh, force preserve me. Please tell me I didn’t…_

Anakin, still half asleep and cocooned in the majority of Obi-Wan’s blankets, mumbled, “Dn ‘eak out. We did’n ‘uck.”

It took him a moment to parse his former apprentice’s words, but when he did, Obi-Wan felt himself go uncharacteristically hot. He shot from the bed, relieved beyond words to still find himself fully clothed and see the hint of Anakin’s underrobe peeking out from beneath the covers.

After attempting to drown himself in the fresher, shaving, and examining his face in the mirror for any hint of redness, Obi-Wan emerged into the bedroom and regarded Anakin who had rolled into the middle of the bed and was stretching like a loth cat in patch of sunlight.

“Are you quite done?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin shot him a curious look. “Done with what?”

_Whatever this social experiment slash practical joke you’re playing on your foolish old master is._

“Why are you in my bed?”

Instead of looking sheepish like he expected, Anakin smirked. “You couldn’t bear for me to leave.”

Obi-Wan had the uncomfortable feeling that Anakin might, on this one and only occasion, be telling the truth, and decided his only recourse was to change the subject and pray Anakin was feeling merciful.

“Is Ahsoka alright? I heard she spent the night with Caleb.”

“Haven’t seen her yet.” Anakin tapped his temple. “She’s shut me out, which she almost never does, so I don’t think it’s good.”

“No. I can’t imagine he has much good to say about the situation.”

“Or to look forward to.”

Obi-Wan sat next to him on the bed, surprised by the bitter note in his voice. “What do you mean?”

Anakin shrugged. “He can’t be the jedi he wants because of his biology and he can’t leave the order because there’s a war on. He doesn’t have a choice.”

“He can leave.”

“Oh, come on. That’s not a choice. Not for us. We’re jedi, and now we’re soldiers too. None of us could leave, not even to save our own skin.”

Obi-Wan clasped Anakin’s forearm. Anakin stared at the place where they touched, expression blank. “But he _could_.”

Anakin shook his head, silent in his disagreement, and waded out the sea of blankets to begin the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Master Plo is a low-key favourite of mine. Contrary to how he's written, I also love Windu. Unfortunately, he's such an excellent foil for almost every other character I have to put him at loggerheads with the world.


	4. Deadheads, Pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sages make their move. Anakin's past catches up to him.
> 
> TW/CW: discussions of forced pregnancy and bonding (non-con) and generally icky power dynamic dysfunction of an ABO universe.

“Come on, Snips. I’ve got twenty credits riding on you,” Anakin called from where he and Quinlan Vos were sprawled against the training mats at the edge of the temple arena.

 _He’s weak on his left side and trying to hide it. Field injury,_ Anakin sent.

Ahsoka grinned and began pressing her advantage. Ahsoka was ruthless. Obi-Wan was too good to leave openings, but as a togruta on the verge of adulthood, her strikes were like battering rams and made their own openings.

Obi-Wan shot Anakin a dirty look before Ahsoka executed particularly forceful strike and he had to fall on his knees to avoid a felling neck slice. Obi-Wan shot to his feet and hand-sprung backwards to avoid Ahsoka’s aggressive momentum, barely managing to kick off the wall of the arena and flip overhead before she was on him again.

 _Are you feeding her intel?_ Even in his mind, Obi-Wan’s voice echoed with his particular brand of stuffy, cultured outrage. Anakin pressed his glee down the bond and watched Obi-Wan scowl. _Traitor,_ Obi-Wan sent back.

Quin whistled, offering Anakin a grin. “She’s getting good.”

Anakin’s chest swelled with pride. “She’ll surpass us both one day.”

“That’ll be a hard day.”

“That’ll be the _best_ day. I’ll finally be able to stop worrying so much.”

“Hah! Aayla’s been able to kick my ass for years and I still struggle to let her out of my sight on missions.” Quin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how good they are, you’ll always worry.”

Anakin winced as Obi-Wan stopped playing around and went on the offensive. In three strikes he had Ahsoka on defence.

_You’re on the backfoot, Snips._

_I know!_

“That’s not good,” Quin said.

 _Come on Ahsoka, come on,_ he thought, careful to shield his anxiety. With his two favourite people in the ring, it was impossible for Anakin to not feel like he was in there with them. Obi-Wan was one of the best duellists in the order. Not because he was the best fighter or the most experienced, but because he was the most insightful. He was a tactician capable of reading an opponent and developing a strategy in the time it took to light a saber. He could adjust on the fly too. If Anakin had a credit for every time he thought he’d gotten the jump on his old master only to find that Obi-Wan had lured him into a trap designed to take advantage of his overconfidence, he’d have enough to buy Nal Hutta.

Ahsoka had a solid sparring record among the padawans. She was rarely beaten, and when she was it was never because of a gap or weakness in her own defence. Anakin had drilled her until she could defend against Ataru blindfolded. But her saber strategy, like her master’s, was predicated on ending a match quickly and aggressively. Obi-Wan had been deliberately dragging the match out and Ahsoka was lagging, able to defend but unable to mount a solid offence due to her fatigue.

_He’s got her. Unless…_

Oh, it was dirty pool, but Obi-Wan was a master with three times her experience. He could handle it.

 _Box his scent glands_ , Anakin sent.

Ahsoka barely dodged another strike, flipping over the training blade and landing in a crouch that she had to immediately spring out of when Obi-Wan countered with a sweeping strike. Ahsoka’s curiosity and fatigue shivered down their bond.

_He’s close to rut. Hypersensitised. It’ll white him out, give you a chance to end it._

Ahsoka gave a brief nod and narrowed her eyes, summoning her reserves of strength to mount a final offense. Obi-Wan, caught off guard, went back on the defence. He scanned Ahsoka, looking for her reasoning. Anakin could almost hear him wondering why she was changing strategies now, where this new confidence was coming from. Obi-Wan was still on rote defence, building a theory, when Ahsoka took her chance.

Anakin and Quin both leaned forward, sensing a shift in the force.

“Get ready to pay up,” Anakin said.

“Yeah right.”

Ahsoka was a blur of motion, too fast to track outside the adrenalin of battle. Anakin’s heart soared as she swept Obi-Wan’s leg. He was too good to let it take him down, but he stumbled, and in the split second before he rallied, Ahsoka was inside his guard. She struck—a quick, brutal palm strike that dropped Obi-Wan to his knees.

Their bond rang with a numb shock that briefly whited out Anakin’s vision. In the eyeblink it took for Anakin and Obi-Wan to come back to themselves, Ahsoka had him disarmed.

Obi-Wan stood in the middle of the training arena looking startled, the beginnings of a smile curling his lip.

“Well done, young one.”

Ahsoka, panting, bent over on both knees gave him a silly grin.

Anakin punched the air and shot to his feet with a whoop of joy. He swooped in and grabbed Ahsoka around the waist, spinning her around while she laughed. He set her on her feet again when Obi-Wan cleared his throat. He watched them with poorly concealed fondness, rubbing his neck ruefully.

“That was an impressive tactic, Ahsoka. How did you know it would stun me?”

“Umm…” Ahsoka trailed off. She shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to lie, but not wanting to rat out her master.

Anakin gave Obi-Wan a shit eating grin and waggled his fingers in a parody of a wave.

Instead of the good-natured disapproval Anakin was expecting, Obi-Wan frowned, strangely serious. Anakin probed at their bond and was shocked to find it shielded at Obi-Wan’s end.

“Anakin, how did you kn—”

“Masters!” A padawan runner Anakin didn’t recognise entered the arena. She knelt at their feet, breathing hard. Ahsoka’s worry echoed through their bond. Anakin squeezed her shoulder.

“What is it Padawan Hess?” Obi-Wan asked, slipping his arms inside his sleeves.

Hess caught her breath. “All jedi of designation species are to report to the council chambers immediately.”

Anakin froze and felt Ahsoka do the same. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Alphas and omegas only?”

She shook her head. “Betas too, sir.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “What’s this about, young one?”

“I don’t know, Master. But…” Hess paused, looking conflicted. Obi-Wan gestured encouragingly. “It’s the sages. They’ve been testing people. They brought me in for evaluation even though I got scanned in the creche when I was just a baby. I’m…not sure why, Master.”

_Oh, fuck._

Anakin only realised he was radiating panic when Obi-Wan shot him a concerned look. He threw up his shields and ignored Obi-Wan’s lingering stare.

 _Master, what’s going on?_ Ahsoka asked. She sounded scared. Anakin fought the urge to fold her into his arms and shield her with his body. There were no threats here. At least, not yet.

_It’s alright, Snips. Don’t panic. Let’s figure out what they want first._

He guided Ahsoka towards the council chamber and kept his hand on her shoulder. He thought of two months prior, when Depa Billaba stood similarly above her own padawan, resolved to shield him from any threat, even her own master. Obi-Wan walked ahead of them, as composed as ever. He didn’t have the same imposing presence as Windu, but Anakin couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to stand against his master like that. He could do it if he had to. Ahsoka was like a daughter to him and he would let no one, not even Obi-Wan, endanger her. _But it would break my fucking heart,_ Anakin admitted.

Quin and Obi-Wan were talking quietly as they entered the council chamber ahead of them. Quin looked unusually serious, Obi-Wan unusually grave. For all his stuffiness and his worry, Obi-Wan was playful at heart. Not prone to dark moods like Anakin or fits of exuberance like Ahsoka. Whatever they were discussing, it wasn’t good.

Anakin sent a thread of inquiry down their bond and felt Obi-Wan’s shields open a crack to let through reassurance.

Anakin guided Ahsoka to the back wall. Not too close to the entrance, but not too far away either. He wanted to be close to an escape route, but he didn’t want to draw the wrong kind of attention.

It was idiotic to even be making contingency plans. Even if they were outed, escape would be nearly impossible in a room packed to the rafters with jedi. But if he didn’t make plans, Anakin was going to panic, and if he panicked, it was game over for him—and more importantly, for Ahsoka.

 _I won’t let them take her,_ he thought, releasing his anger into the force before it could take hold of him.

Ahsoka slipped her arm around his waist beneath his outer robe and tucked herself under his shoulder. Anakin pulled her into his embrace, grateful to have her close, and wished he could fold her inside his robe and make her disappear. _It’s going to be alright, Snips._

Her emotions were a roiling tempest of fear and panic, but she looked composed. Even through his own unease, he felt a warm shiver of pride.

Obi-Wan took his regular seat on the council and Quin threaded through the throng of bodies to join them at the back wall. He slipped in next to Ahsoka, and Anakin relaxed a little. Quin was an unorthodox jedi. Despite being an alpha, he’d always disliked the soil and seed mandate. Psychometry was an uncommon gift, one the sages would be keen to cultivate once the war had ended, but until then Quin was relishing his freedom and made no secret of how little he was looking forward to ‘doing his duty’.

“Twenty credits says Obi-Wan and Windu get into it again,” Quin said.

“You’re not getting your money back that easily,” Anakin said.

Aayla Secura sidled up beside her former master, sparing a smile for Anakin and Ahsoka. “I’ll take that action.”

Quin grinned and knocked their sides together. “When did you get dirtside?”

Aayla smiled wryly. “An hour ago.” She looked between them. “So, Caleb and Deepa left the order, huh. What’s that about?”

A sage of soil and seed approached the middle of the room, standing between the council and the assembled jedi. Their hooded green robe concealed their face, and their scentless, silent body lent a ghostly air.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Quin said quietly.

The sage raised their hand. Gloved in simple black, the only distinguishing element was the humanoid shape. It was impossible to tell who was beneath the robe. Even their force signature was indistinguishable from the pack, the sensory equivalent of a plain white wall.

The room fell silent.

The sage spoke: “There is a rot at the heart of this order.” Their voice was androgynous, modulated by technology or species origin to sound flatly mechanical. Anakin repressed a shiver. “It has festered for many years, unchecked, due to the blind ignorance of leadership.”

Murmurs of dissent rose from the chamber. From his seat near the end of the ring, Obi-Wan frowned. Windu, who once again sat at Yoda’s right hand, was frighteningly blank faced in a way Anakin had only ever seen before battle.

“No longer will we sages stand back and allow this rot to spread. The jedi order was founded on the mandate of soil and seed. The future of the jedi relies on the continuation of bloodlines, on the sacred verdant soil of our force-blessed omegas.”

Anakin caught Ahsoka before she could start shifting uncomfortably and sent a quelling pulse down their bond. _Stay calm, Snips._

“That the council have permitted the foundational mandate or our order, our most sacred calling, to go unheeded by so many has spurred us to act.” The sage raised their hand and a holoprojector floated to the centre of the room. A list of names appeared. Dozens, maybe more, unreadable from this distance. “If your name is called, step forward.”

The door to the council chamber slid shut and a pair of sentries wielding saber-staffs guarded the entrance. The room coiled with tension.

“Oh, shit,” Quin breathed.

_Whatever happens, I’ll protect you._

Ahsoka curled into his side, trembling, trying so hard to be brave. Obi-Wan stared at them from the other side of the room. He focused on Ahsoka, and Anakin felt the moment he got it. Anakin’s mind flooded with terrible, painful understanding.

_She’s…Anakin, how could you—_

Anakin cut him off, slamming the bond shut like a door. Obi-Wan looked stunned. He would never understand. How could he? Anakin could only hope he wouldn’t give her away.

“Knight Bultar Swan.” There were several cries of disbelief and outrage; towards Bultar or the sage, Anakin couldn’t be sure. Bultar emerged from the middle of the crowd, straight-backed and proud. Her former master, Micah Giiett straightened in his seat and was only stopped from intervening by Master Adi Gallia’s hand on his arm. She was soon joined by several other jedi Anakin didn’t recognise or recognised only in passing: an attendant from the archives, a healer who had assessed him once after a particularly nasty fall as a youngling, one of Battlemaster Cin Drallig’s innumerable students. As the names piled up and the bodies assembled, Anakin’s gut continued to tighten. “Master Nejaa Halcyon and Master Cin Drallig.”

In the roar of outraged noise that followed the naming of two respected masters, the next name went almost unheard. “Ahsoka Tano.”

Anakin tucked Ahsoka in tighter against his body. Her shaking stopped. Her force presence went still as a lake as her mind blanked in shock.

_No._

Master Halcyon and Master Drallig joined the line of fellow jedi. The sage continued with their list.

“Master…” Ahsoka whispered. 

Quin and Aayla shifted forward to block Ahsoka from the left, and obscured as she was by the folds of Anakin’s cloak, she was barely visible from any other angle. Obi-Wan fisted the arms of his council chair and stared at the place where Ahsoka disappeared into Anakin’s robes. Anakin couldn’t read his expression and with the bond shut on both ends, had no recourse to probe his feelings.

“Stay down, Snips,” Anakin said, lower than a whisper.

The sage finished speaking and surveyed the line-up of jedi. “You are accused of designation fraud, of circumvention of the primary mandate, of _treason_.”

Gasps sounded around the room. Quin took advantage of the turmoil and leaned over to speak privately.

“Not to be a buzzkill, Skywalker, but this won’t last,” Quin said.

“I just need time to think.”

“Think quicker.”

There was no escape from this room. Even if they did, they wouldn’t make it out of the temple. Ahsoka’s name was on that list. Anakin couldn’t undo that.

An idea sparked. A reckless, crazy idea.

“Stay here, Snips. Quin, watch her.”

Before Ahsoka could try and stop him, Anakin pushed off the back wall and shouldered through the crowd. Being half a head taller and a good deal broader than almost everyone in the room played to his advantage here in a way it rarely did during combat. The crowd stumbled over one another to avoid him. He pushed his anger into the force, let everyone feel how pissed off he was.

 _Don’t look at her—look at me_.

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed. He must have caught the thought. Anakin tightened his shields. He couldn’t have Obi-Wan interfering.

“What in sith’s hell is this about?”

“You will remain silent,” the sage said.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“You _will_ obey.”

“You don’t know me very well, do you?”

He heard Obi-Wan sigh, several snickers and a few coughs. The mood in the room shifted, lightened. Bultar’s master, Micah Giiett, stood from his council seat and joined Anakin on the floor.

“I too have questions, as I’m sure many here do. Namely, what authority you have to be making such serious accusations beyond the scope of the council?” Master Giiett said.

Murmurs of agreement rose around the room. The sage ignored them, studying the list. “Where is Ahsoka Tano?”

Anakin felt the eyes of the room turn to him. Ahsoka, obscured between Quin and Aayla, radiated distress.

_Master, don’t, just let me—_

_You’re not doing anything, Snips. Let me handle this._

_Please don’t do anything stupid._

Anakin sent her a pulse of fondness. _Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control._

 _I hope,_ he thought privately.

“Yeah, my padawan’s got nothing to do with this.”

The sage was a nothing presence in the force, but they still managed to radiate displeasure. “You will submit our authority.”

“Don’t see why I should.”

“Enough, Skywalker,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said. “Bring forth your padawan so we may proceed.”

“We?” Master Giiett said, disbelieving. “This tribunal is being held in our name only. Whatever judgement the sages mean to present, this council has had no part in making.”

“Master Giiett, our place to interfere it is not. Return to your place, you should,” Yoda said.

Master Giiett stiffened, wavered. The room quietened at the grand master’s voice.

“With all due respect, Master Yoda, a master’s place is always between their padawan and harm,” Anakin said.

“No harm will come to the accused,” the sage said.

“That depends on your definition of harm.”

“Anakin, be silent,” Obi-Wan said.

“I will not,” Anakin said.

“Padawan—”

“I am _not_ your padawan.”

They locked eyes.

The force pulled taut with tension.

“Enough,” Master Windu said. “Skywalker, get your apprentice. Kenobi, be silent.”

“No.”

Windu leaned forward, expression darkening. “What did you say?”

 _Master, no!_ Ahsoka cried.

“Ahsoka is a beta. The sages have no authority over her. I will not see her accused of a crime she didn’t commit for a second time.”

The council murmured in shock.

“That’s out of line, Skywalker.”

“Not from where I’m standing.”

“On seven of your padawan’s last ten visits to the halls of healing, a med droid has been taken offline. Inventory of suppressant and blocker caches has found discrepancies consistent with unsanctioned treatment. Padawan Tano has been receiving suppressants and blockers, unregistered. This is treason.”

“No, she hasn’t.”

“You have another explanation for this discrepancy?” 

Anakin closed his eyes. His gut swamped with dread. Everything he ever worked for, gone in an instant. _But at least she’ll be safe._ Anakin let the thought of Ahsoka’s safety buoy him, strengthen him. He raised his chin, swept his eyes over the council. Obi-Wan met his eyes. A message passed unspoken between them: _Don’t you do it—I’m sorry, master._

“I do.” Anakin took a deep breath. _Courage_. “Ahsoka and I visit the halls together. It’s not her you want. It’s me.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his aching head and tried not to think. It was an exercise in futility after the events of the afternoon, but he kept going anyway. Meditation had been difficult for him as a youngling, but in the tumultuous early years of his apprenticeship under Qui-Gon, it had been a safe haven; a tranquil place he could retreat to when the expectations of his master and the order became too much. He grasped for that comfort now and felt only turmoil.

Healer Vali had come to inform the council that all of the accused were confirmed omegas. Some had been hiding for years, others for decades, and in a number of different ways. Master Drallig had been chemically neutered since before he came to the temple. His recruiter, a disgraced jedi long since cast out of the order, had seen his monumental potential and made the decision to neuter him before bringing him to the temple. By the time Master Drallig realised his internal anatomy was consistent with an omega male’s, the damage was permanent and he saw no need to tell anyone. He would carry no children and after a long deliberation, the sages agreed to keep with the council’s judgement. Cin Drallig had returned to his students without reprimand. As for the others…

Obi-Wan released his anger into the force. The sages had not been so forthcoming about the others. They had been ushered from the halls of healing to the chamber of soil in the sages dominion at the heart of the jedi temple. They were not allowed visitors and the council would not get a say in their punishment or their fate.

Obi-Wan’s fists clenched. _Oh, Anakin…I’m so sorry._

Obi-Wan found Ahsoka after the meeting broke. She’d secluded herself in the room of a thousand fountains. She’d been curled in a ball when he found her, soaking her tunic with tears as she shook with the force of her sobs. Her guilt and fear flooded the force. It had barely dissipated since. She’d been stiff with him at first, unsure of his intentions. Obi-Wan had ached at her distrust, but knew it was what he deserved after what happened in the council chamber.

“Anakin will be okay, Ahsoka.”

“How can you say that? You don’t know what they’re doing to him. No one does.”

“I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Ahsoka had frowned at him. She hadn’t said it, but they’d both thought it: _you already have_.

Eventually, he’d gotten the full story out of her: how Anakin had found her the night she presented, how he’d hidden her, promised to protect her.

Obi-Wan remembered that night. He’d been so tired. Battered from the front lines and aching for rest. “Teenage stuff,” Anakin had said, double speak Obi-Wan would have seen through in any other circumstance. Obi-Wan remembered the smell of omega on Anakin’s sheets, how flustered he’s been that Anakin had been bold enough to bring Senator Amidala back to the temple, how awkwardly he tried to broach the subject. It was Anakin’s scent he’d smelled that night: dry heat and dark spice. Warmth incarnate.

_Oh, Anakin, why didn’t you come to me?_

Obi-Wan shook his head. He already knew the answer. If Anakin couldn’t bear to tell Obi-Wan his own secret, he would never have told him Ahsoka’s.

The sages abbreviated report on Anakin revealed that his mother had paid to have his designation legally changed shortly after his birth. Anakin’s skill with droids made the rest easy. He was uncommonly tall for an omega, broad and classically handsome. It was easy to look at him and see what you wanted to see: the dashing hero of the republic. The only surprise Anakin regularly fielded surrounding his designation was surprise he wasn’t an alpha. No one expected deception of him so no one went looking. Even when the sages found evidence of tampering, they had assumed it was Ahsoka.

The sages had been particularly excited about Anakin. _A child of the force with power greater than any we have seen. His legacy will be vast and fruitful, a true credit to the order._

Obi-Wan stood abruptly and only realised he had lit his saber when the chamber washed with neon blue light. He thumbed it off and holstered it, tucking his shaking hands inside his sleeves. There was a restlessness inside of him that no meditation could still. He itched for a fight, but knew it would be unwise. In his state, he could truly hurt someone. And yet he couldn’t remain as he was.

_I need to see Anakin._

Master Yoda caught him on his way to the sages chamber. Obi-Wan repressed a guilty flinch and hid his shaking hands inside his sleeves.

Master Yoda beckoned him forward. “Come, young Obi-Wan. Much to discuss, we have.”

They retreated to Yoda’s favourite training room. It was reserved for the younglings just out of the creche. Brightly coloured, the walls patterned with trees and fish and wildlife from many of the sacred jedi home worlds. On the wall opposite where he was seated, the caves of Ilium glistened with crystals of many colours.

Yoda met his eyes over the hilt of his cane. Obi-Wan flushed and felt several confusing emotions bubble up inside of him he couldn’t make sense of.

“Master, I—”

“Much conflict I sense in you, young Obi-Wan. Anger, there is. Guilt, there is.” Yoda peered closer and looked briefly suprised. “ _Longing_ there is also. Interesting…”

Obi-Wan spluttered. “Master, I don’t think that’s quite correct.”

“Hmm! Call it by another name, would you? _Deny_ it, would you?”

“No, I just…He’s my padawan. I don’t like him being somewhere I cannot protect him.”

“Yes, much guilt in you I sense. Anger for your former padawan. Anger towards the council?”

“No, Master.” Obi-Wan rubbed a hand over his face. “The sages. I…don’t like the way they talk about him.”

Yoda glanced at his arms. Obi-Wan got the impression that even concealed within the folds of his robes, the grand master could see how his hands shook.

“Territorial, you are.”

Obi-Wan flinched. “Master!”

Yoda wheezed with laughter. “So shocked, young Obi-Wan! Your apprentice he once was. Your apprentice he is no longer.”

“That’s not…” Obi-Wan gaped. “It’s not like that.”

“Hmm. See, we shall, when the selection begins.”

“Selection?”

“See then, we shall, the will of the force. In its hands, young Skywalker’s destiny you must put.”

Obi-Wan left Master Yoda’s company lighter in some ways and more troubled in others. Selection…He’d heard rumours, of course. As one of many human alphas in the order, he had never been called to participate himself, but Quin had gone through it and had nothing kind to say about it. Alphas undergoing selection were forbidden to give details after the fact, so all he’d said was, “Obi-Wan, pray you never get matched. It’s hell, even for the unselected.”

He had no idea what the process of selecting a sage-approved mate was like for the omega, but couldn’t image it would be much better. At least the alpha could not be chosen.

The thought of Anakin going through that was…distressing.

 _Serenity,_ Obi-Wan reminded himself. _You are a jedi master, not a youngling barely out of the creche._

Obi-Wan forced himself to return to his quarters, deliberately avoiding the chambers of the soil and seed for his own sanity. He must let this go. He must find some peace in this situation or…well. He didn’t know and he didn’t want to find out.

When he returned to his quarters, he found Ahsoka already lying in wait—and she wasn’t alone.

Senator Padme Amidala, nearly swallowed by an oversized black robe— _Anakin’s robe, that’s Anakin’s robe_ —regarded him steadily over a cup of Anakin’s favourite ginger tea.

Obi-Wan’s hackles rose. He bit back a snarl, but knew his hostility bled into the air.

Padme assessed him with a politician’s blank mask.

“Master Kenobi, I think it’s time we talked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoda is a literal troll. No one can convince me otherwise.  
> Ahsoka as Anakin's pseudo-daughter gives me life.
> 
> Next chapter: Obi-Wan angsts. Quin gets hit by the pseudo-incest clue bat.


	5. Deadheads, Pt.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin is the galaxy's worst caged bird. Padme is the galaxy's best friend. And Obi-Wan has a lot of feelings, okay?
> 
> TW/CW: discussions of forced pregnancy and bonding (non-con) and generally icky power dynamic dysfunction of an ABO universe.  
> Explicit discussions of the "is it ever okay to want to bone your former student?" variety.

Anakin paced the chamber of soil, leaking aggression like a secondary scent. He judged the distance between the ground and the chamber’s glass-top roof and considered making a run for it.

_Just do it. Snips will understand. The men will understand. Anything’s better than this._

“You actually gonna do it this time, Skywalker?” Knight Bultar Swan asked.

“Thinking about it.”

“Do it or sit down. Your moodiness is giving me a headache.”

“ _My_ moodiness. You’re the one stinking up the place with misery. At least I’m trying to do something.”

“Don’t seem to be doing much from where I’m sitting.”

Anakin bared his teeth.

“Come over here and I’ll show what I can do.”

“That’s enough,” Master Halcyon said. “Fighting will not change our situation. It is as the force wills it. No more. No less.”

They lapsed into silence. Anakin walked the perimeter of the chamber of soil. It was a large dome with a glass top. The walls were a soothing shade of white. Sofas, chairs, pillows and blankets in varying patterns, colours and fabrics bordered the central space, undoubtedly put there in the hopes that they would nest and begin to seed the space with happy-omega hormones.

Anakin bit back a scoff. _Fat chance_.

After the way he’d been poked and prodded and practically drooled over like a prime cut of meat in the inspection chamber, he wasn’t feeling particularly like a ‘happy omega’.

He reached again for his bond with Obi-Wan and was met, frustratingly, with another closed door. The fear cropped up again that maybe Obi-Wan _wouldn’t_ help him out of this. That unlike his other binds, his former master would decide that this was the final straw, the battle Anakin would finally have to face alone. Logic, _experience_ , told him his fears were unfounded. Obi-Wan had never abandoned him, never refused to help when it counted. Whatever was stopping Obi-Wan from reaching out, Anakin had to trust it wasn’t a desire to leave him alone in the dark.

Well, not _entirely_ alone.

_Snips?_

_Master! Are you alright? What’s happening? Why have you been shielding?_

Ahsoka’s fear and frustration rolled through the force. Anakin sent back a push of reassurance, along with a mental image of him standing, smiling, whole and hale.

It was even almostthe truth. The sages hadn’t touched him except to confirm his presentation. He definitely had an easier time than Bultar, who had to have an internal exam to confirm what the sages could determine about Anakin and Halcyon at a glance. Anakin never thought he’d be glad to be a male omega, but the thought of one of those wrinkly old sages with their hand up his robe was enough to make him shudder.

Ahsoka’s relief washed over him.

_They didn’t hurt you?_

_Course not._

_Master._

_Cross my heart, Snips. They just wanted a look at the goods._

_Ugh, gross!_

_You asked._

Ahsoka sighed. _When are you coming home?_

Anakin’s heart clenched. The sages hadn’t been especially talkative, but the impression he’d gotten was that he’d be leaving here barefoot and pregnant or not at all. He wasn’t about to tell Ahsoka that though.

_Soon._

_How soon?_

So suspicious. Any other time and he would have been proud.

_I don’t know. I’m a Jedi Knight in the middle of a war. They can’t keep me here for long. The council won’t allow it._

Obi-Wan wouldn’t.

_I hope you’re right, Master._

Her doubt was like a storm cloud in the force. He couldn’t blame her for it, not after what happened with Barriss Offee and the resulting fallout with the council. She had even less reason to trust them than Anakin did. She was more loyal to Anakin and the GAR than the Jedi Order these days, something that, as her master, he should have been trying to correct. But Anakin understood all too well how it felt to have the people you desperately needed support from doubt you, and he was unwilling to sway her from those feelings without due cause. She was right to be wary. He couldn’t, in good conscience, tell her not to be.

He sighed. _I’ll be alright, Snips._

_Promise?_

_Promise._

Their connection faded gently to the back of his mind, like a boat drifting off to sea. Anakin came back to himself, sprawled inelegantly across one of the many overly plush sofas. Bultar had moved from fiddling with a deck of sabacc cards to lying flat on her back, staring up at the domed glass ceiling with a distant expression.

Master Halcyon was taking advantage of the open space. Folded into a demure lotus in a patch of sunlight, he looked as calm as if he were still in the council chamber. Looking at him, you wouldn’t know his life had just been upended. Anakin wasn’t sure if he was jealous of the man’s composure or annoyed by his calm acceptance.

“It’s over you know. There’s no coming back from this—for any of us,” Anakin said bitterly.

“Gee, Skywalker, what a great pep talk,” Bultar drawled.

“Shut up.” He sat opposite Master Halcyon. “We’re generals. Our men need us. This isn’t my purpose and I don’t think you believe it’s yours either.”

Master Halcyon opened his eyes. “Whatever I believe my purpose to be, these events have shown me otherwise. You’re a fighter, Skywalker, a good one, but it’s not all you are.”

Halcyon closed his eyes. Discussion over.

Anakin met Bultar’s dark-eyed gaze across the room. Her expression was unreadable, but beneath the overwhelming aura of misery she projected, Anakin sensed something else emerging. Something hot and angry and mirrored in his own force signature.

Bultar jerked her head towards a door leading further into the chamber. Anakin followed her lead into the smaller room, keeping a wary eye out for sages. They seemed too stuck on ceremony to intrude into what was apparently a ‘sacred omega space’, but that didn’t mean they had no way of monitoring them.

The stone showers were open air, communal like the ones in the temple training arena but exotic, strangely luxurious, made of some kind of roughened stone and smelling of wet earth.

Bultar shed her clothes and Anakin followed suit. Rain fell from the ceiling, soaking them to the skin in seconds. Bultar stepped close. Even through the roar of the water he could barely hear her breathing.

She tapped her left ear: _they’re listening._

Anakin thumbed his chin, following suit and restricting his signing to the left side of his body: _message received._

Bultar raised two fingers and made a scooping motion followed by a halting slash: _extraction impossible._

She closed her fist: _stop_.

Anakin caught his chin between thumb and forefinger: _message rejected_.

Bultar plucked a sponge from a nearby caddy and began washing. She ran the sponge up her neck and across her jaw. For the briefest moment, her mouth was obscured.

“Chosen one,” she breathed. The words sent a jolt down Anakin’s spine. The dark warning in her gaze made any other words unnecessary: _they’ll never let you go_.

Anakin plucked the sponge from her grip and began washing, utilitarian and stilted. He wasn’t giving the sages watching a damn show on top of everything else. By now he’d pinpointed the pinprick hole in the opposite wall. The sages, with their blank force presences and scentless bodies were almost impossible to detect, but Anakin trusted his intuition and he trusted the intelligence of a knight like Bultar Swan. They were watching.

He repeated her trick, letting the sponge obscure his mouth for just a moment. “My choice.”

His choice to leave, his choice to stay, his choice to breed. The sages couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to. Even the codes and ceremonies of the Jedi Order had limits.

Bultar said nothing more, but she didn’t need to. Her disbelief was obvious. She made a circle and pressed it to her left thigh: _may the force be with you_.

Anakin released his own circle: _and also with you_.

Padme made herself comfortable on the two-seater sofa with Ahsoka while Obi-Wan took his customary arm chair.As she regarded him steadily over the rim of her teacup, Obi-Wan had the strangest sense of dislocation, like he was back aboard the _Invisible Hand_ at the negotiating table with a formidable separatist leader.

Padme sipped her tea, every inch the diplomat. There was a glint in her eye he’d learned to be wary of. The same glint had taken her from safety on Tatooine to a gladiatorial arena on Geonosis.

“What’s this about, Senator?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Ahsoka’s been telling me about this selection process Anakin’s been dragged into, and Obi-Wan, I have to say, it sounds barbaric. Not something I believed the Jedi capable of condoning.”

Obi-Wan released his anger to the force, uncomfortably aware how little the senator deserved it. It was not she who deserved to bear the brunt of his frustrations.

“I agree, Senator.”

“Padme, please.”

Obi-Wan smiled reflexively. “Padme. It’s difficult to explain if you’re not a part of the order.”

“Can you try? I’ve been Anakin’s heat partner for years. I knew he wanted to keep his designation hidden, but I assumed it was to avoid harassment or sexualised treatment. Many omegas in the senate use blockers to avoid undue influence. It didn’t seem like a strange decision for a jedi knight, but now I discover he’s been taken against his will for simply exercising his right to live as he likes. That doesn’t seem right to me.” She peered at him. “An opinion I believe you share.”

“The jedi are a religious order. At the foundation of our religion is the mandate of soil and seed. Omegas and alphas of designation species are required to breed as the order mandates to pass on their strength in the force to the next generation. To circumvent such an obligation is, well, to many fundamentalists, like spitting in the face of the force itself.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Few have. It’s a sacred duty, but its practices and ceremonies are secret.”

Padme steepled her fingers. “So it’s the passing on of force sensitivity that’s important to them?”

“Yes.”

“They want Anakin to continue his bloodline?”

_Where’s she going with this?_

“Yes.”

“Is there any reason he must carry the child?”

Obi-Wan felt himself go blank, shock waves rippling through the force, rebounding off Ahsoka who looked at him sharply.

“You can’t be suggesting…”

“I’ve always wanted children and I could easily undertake my duties in the senate while pregnant.” Padme’s gaze drifted to the window, deep in thought. “It would leave Anakin free to return to the front lines while still complying with your mandate.”

Ahsoka brightened. “That could work. Master, it could work! Do you think the council would go for it?”

It made sense. It was a promising proposal, one he should have seized immediately and made plans to bring before the council, but something nagged at him. It made sense in his mind, but there was no reaction in the force, no hum of agreement or disagreement.

“You would have to give your child to the order,” Obi-Wan reminded her.

Far from being dissuaded, Padme shrugged.

“Perhaps. Or we could come to some sort of arrangement. Anakin didn’t join the order until he was ten.”

“Anakin was a special case.”

“And his children would not be?”

Obi-Wan leaned forward, hands spread in entreaty. “Padme, omega-omega pregnancies are difficult. Anakin has the theoretical ability to sire, but it is a secondary capability, one we’re not sure he even has.”

Far from being swayed by the argument, Padme assessed him. She was a shrewd woman and cut right to the heart of the matter. “Why are you fighting this?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Silence fell. Obi-Wan’s silver tongue deserted him. A negotiator among the jedi he may have been, but before Padme Amidala, the galactic republic’s youngest and most accomplished senator, he felt like a boy fumbling at an adult’s game. 

When it became clear that Obi-Wan would not, or could not, respond, Padme spoke:

“I love Anakin. I’m his friend, his heat partner, and I feel there is the potential for more. Naboo holds an omega majority. We are well versed in handling omega-omega pregnancies. If the jedi temple does not have the expertise, it would be no hardship to consult my own physicians.” Padme leaned closer. “But that’s not what’s troubling you, is it?”

No. It wasn’t. Obi-Wan’s emotions were complicated. Relief, certainly, that he had such a powerful ally for Anakin’s freedom as Padme Amidala on his side; anger that his padawan was even in this position to begin with, hurt that he had been excluded from the secret these two shared with Anakin, fear that he would lose Anakin to whatever was to come. Beyond that, his emotions were a maelstrom, difficult to pick apart and interpret even for one so experienced as him. Never before could Obi-Wan remember being so conflicted.

He settled on the only answer that made sense, even if it was not the whole truth.

“I do not believe that the council or the sages would sanction such a match.”

“Why not?”

“You are not a jedi, Padme. Anakin is the son of the force. They will want to pair him with a powerful jedi. I would not be surprised if Master Windu himself was selected.”

“But Anakin hates him!” Ahsoka said indignantly.

Padme ducked her head to hide a smile. Even Obi-Wan felt amused, despite the circumstances.

“We cannot know what will happen, but I concede your point, Padme. I do not believe the council will approve of your proposal, but I will bring it to them anyway.”

“Do you?” Padme asked.

“Do I what?”

“Approve.”

Obi-Wan hesitated. Padme saw his hesitation. It was too late to pretend otherwise. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I want what’s best for Anakin. Your solution makes sense, but…”

“But?”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

Unlike most force-null individuals, Padme didn’t roll her eyes or shrug off his assessment as ‘jedi magic’. She looked thoughtful instead, a little grim.

“Well, if Master Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi says it is so, so it must be.” Her smile was tinged with sadness. “Still, I would appreciate you passing on my offer if it’s no trouble.”

Obi-Wan’s chest swelled. Padme was a good woman. He understood what Anakin saw in her. He liked her. He just didn’t like her proposal.

He kissed her knuckles. “Of course.”

The council entertained Padme’s proposal for longer than he thought they would. The allure of having the ‘Hero with No Fear’ on the frontlines without the interruption of heats and breeding was enough to momentarily ignore the obvious. Unfortunately, the obvious made itself known before long.

“We will not stand for such an abomination,” the sage said. “Skywalker is the son of the force. He will be bred by one of our own. The verdant soil of his womb is one half of eternal creation. Such a mating will be treated with the utmost reverence and ceremony.”

The chamber delved into silence. Obi-Wan released his repulsion at the base language used to describe Anakin—his _padawan_ —into the force and met Shaak Ti’s frown with one of his own. Even Mace, who had made no secret of his dislike of Anakin, looked put out by the sage’s words.

Master Yoda moved them on quickly to other matters. This latest upset had severely hampered their forces. With three of their best GAR generals off the field, it was a scramble to cover and keep ground. At the end of session, the sage stood and declared Skywalker’s selection would be held the following evening.

Before he could stop himself, Obi-Wan was interjecting, “Why so soon?”

“The force is with us. He is weeks from compulsory heat. The appropriate mate will induce heat with their mere presence. We could not have asked for a more fortuitous selection.”

Alarm rose in Obi-Wan. For all he’d been trying to come to terms with his former padawan’s situation, the abstract was far easier to come to terms with than reality. Someone was going to _breed_ Anakin, his padawan, his friend, his…brother. It didn’t feel right. None of this did. Anakin was not made to be caged. The _Resolute_ had been grounded for nearly a week and the holos were beginning to notice the would-be flagship’s absence from the frontlines.

“Forgive me,” Obi-Wan spoke up, unable to keep silent. “But wouldn’t Anakin better serve the order in the war? We are all stretched thin. He is a young man with many breeding years ahead of him. Surely this can wait. Surely he can contribute better elsewhere.”

“The truth, Master Kenobi speaks. Considered this, have the sages?” Yoda asked.

The sage paused. With their blank force signature and hidden features, Obi-Wan had no way of knowing what kind of silence it was. 

“Master Halcyon and Knight Swan will be returned to the war as the force allows. On the matter of Knight Skywalker, the force is clear. The sages feel guided to continue with his selection.”

“It does not feel clear to me,” Obi-Wan said. There were murmurs of agreement around the chamber.

The sage turned towards him. A shiver ran down Obi-Wan’s spine.

“Around you the force is also clear, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “What are you saying?”

“You will be a part of Skywalker’s selection.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth went dry. You could have heard a dew drop in the council chamber.

“In what way?”

“In the only way. Selection will be as the force wills it. No more. No less. You will receive a summons along with the other potential matches. Until then, rest well and prepare. You will need your strength.”

Quin found him on his third drink. Obi-Wan was idling in a random bar in the lower city, toying with the idea of going home with a pretty stranger. If he wrung himself out before tomorrow, maybe he could avoid disgracing himself in front of his padawan. He didn’t know what selection entailed, but considering the proverbial garden at the end of the path, he could hazard a guess.

He was nowhere he knew, nowhere anyone should have been able to find him, but somehow he wasn’t surprised when Quin slipped into the booth opposite him.

“Well don’t you look sorry for yourself.”

“Not in the mood, Quin.”

“I don’t much care what you’re in the mood for. We’ve got to talk.”

“We really don’t.”

“Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan put his head in his hands. Quin peeled them away, finger by finger, and held on, squeezing gently. “You can talk to me, you know. I’m probably the one least likely to judge you, considering the things I’ve done.”

“I raised him. I _raised_ him, Quin. Now they’re asking me to—”

“I know. It fucking sucks.”

Obi-Wan huffed. Almost a laugh. “It really does.”

“But hey, I’ve been matched with him too. It probably won’t be you.”

Obi-Wan’s hackles rose. He only realised he was growling when Quin froze and began watching him warily. “Easy, papa bear.”

Obi-Wan shook himself out of it, grimaced. “That’s not…”

He couldn’t bear to say it. Couldn’t even think it.

“Oh,” Quin breathed, sounding truly shocked. “ _Oh, fuck_.”

Obi-Wan stood. He needed to leave. Now.

Quin caught him by the arm and tugged him down. “Hey, hey. No. Let’s talk about this.”

“I really don’t want to talk.”

“Yeah. I, uh, I get that. I do. This…it’s fucking weird, man.”

“It’s disgraceful,” Obi-Wan corrected quietly. “There’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with you. Force, even I’ve noticed the kid’s not exactly hard on the eyes. I mean, don’t rip my throat out, but it wouldn’t be a _hardship_ to go to bed with him.”

“He wasn’t your padawan. You’re allowed to think that.”

Quin regarded him. His expression was difficult to read.

“I’ve known you a long time Obi-Wan and I’ve never seen you love someone the way you love Anakin.”

“I don’t…It’s not like that.”

“I didn’t think so either. I assumed you thought of him like a brother, but that was my bias getting in the way. I’m a shadow. I should know to look beneath.”

“He _is_ like my brother,” Obi-Wan said wearily, draining the last of his corellian rum and gesturing the bartender for another.

“Maybe he was once. I believe you still want him to be, but I think we both know he’s more than that now. It’s a strange situation. Complicated. But you’re not _actually_ his father. As much as you cared for him as a child, you kept a rigid emotional distance. It was only when he was approaching knighthood that you let yourself thaw a little. I think that matters.”

“You don’t have to keep talking around it, Quin. I want to fuck my padawan. It’s disgusting. It’s wrong. I want it anyway.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach swooped. He swallowed bile. He put his head in his folded arms and groaned.

“What in forces name am I going to do tomorrow?”

Quin braced his shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright. We’ll get through it together.”

“It can’t be me, Quin. It can’t. I don’t think I could survive the guilt. I can barely deal with it now when it’s just in my head.”

“Have you talked to Anakin about this?”

“Force, no. Are you kidding? He’d…I’m the one fixed point in his life. The one person he can always count on. I couldn’t bear it if he stopped looking at me like that.”

“He’s not going to stop loving you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually, I do. Kid’s lost on you.”

“You _definitely_ don’t know that.”

Quin ruffled his hair. Obi-Wan raised his head and shot him a glare.

“You’re forgetting something very important.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

Quin wiggled his fingers. “I’ve touched his underwear.”

It took Obi-Wan a moment to get it. When he did, he flushed and flicked at ice cube at Quin’s head. Quin ducked and collapsed against the booth, laughing like a lunatic. Obi-Wan shook his head, reluctantly amused, and gestured the bartender for another round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan copes by drinking. You can pry this headcanon from my cold dead claws. I like to image he was drunk a solid 70% of the time during Anakin's padawan years. I mean, can you even imagine?  
> Quin is Best Bro. Ahsoka is Best Daughter. Padme is Best Badass. And Obi-Wan is...well, a mess, let's be real.
> 
> Next chapter: Selection begins, and things are looking up for poor self-flagellating Obi-Wan.


	6. Deadheads, Pt.4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Selection. 
> 
> TW: discussions of forced pregnancy and bonding (rape/non-con).  
> CW: Explicit sexual content towards the end.

Obi-Wan changed into the silken black robe the sages laid out for him, releasing his nervous tension into the force.

His nerves returned swiftly once he entered the chamber of the ovum and lined up with the other matches. He released again, breathing deep and slow, but mediative focus was frustratingly out of reach. This close to rut, he could barely gather the tattered remnants of his composure into something resembling his usual calm. It wasn't nearly enough to make him feel like himself, but it would have to do.

He’d tried one last time to excuse himself from Anakin’s selection, but the sage at the door refused to respond. Mace was sympathetic, but seeing as he had also been selected as a match for Anakin, was busy praying to every god he knew that he wasn’t selected. Obi-Wan could scarcely imagine Anakin as anyone’s mate, but the idea of him being Mace Windu’s was especially laughable. They’d kill each other before Anakin even managed to fall pregnant.

Obi-Wan paused.

Pregnant. _Anakin_.

Obi-Wan shook his head. His feelings surrounding the idea were…complicated. He strongly believed Anakin’s place was at the forefront of this war, that this farce of a tradition was coming at the wrong time, but…he _would_ be an excellent mother. If his dealings with Ahsoka were any indication, he’d serve the order proudly as a progenitor of the next generation of Jedi. One day. And only if it was what he wanted. It ran counter to the understanding of the Council, and was diametrically opposed to the sages purported plans, but it was what Obi-Wan believed.

If he was selected, disregarding the web of guilt and emotional obligation he’d spun for himself, could he mate an unwilling man?

No. Not for the Council. Not for anyone or anything.

The force knew that. It would not pick him. He had to have faith, let the force guide him. It had never let him down before and it would not let him down now.

_I am one with the force and the force is with me._

Obi-Wan exhaled and felt his body flood with calm. He released his tension to the force. This time it worked. When he opened his eyes the world was brighter, his thoughts were clearer.

Quin bumped their shoulders together and Obi-Wan offered him a small smile.

“Feeling better?” He asked in a low voice.

Two sages inspected their line-up, ticking names off a list, inspecting the matches and adjusting their attire as needed. 

“The force is with me. What will be will be.”

Quin grinned. “Now _that’s_ more like the Obi-Wan I know.”

It wouldn’t be long now.

Anakin inspected himself in the mirror and tried not to grimace.

It wouldn’t be long now.

He wished he could turn back time, find some other way to dig Snips out of the hole he’d put her in, but there was no going back. He was in the shit now and, according to Bultar, he’d be in it until he popped out a dozen kids or died—whichever came first.

He fingered the seam of his new robe. The material was slinky, silky, something Padme would wear and look terrifyingly gorgeous in. It was made for his build, tailored to accentuate the broad line of his shoulders, the narrow cut of his waist and delicate flare of his hips. It draped from his shoulders and cinched at the waist with an ornate silver clasp. A single layer cream silk soft as butter, studded at the bottom with pearls. It was too fine for him, nothing he ever would have picked for himself. If the sages had anything to say about it, he wouldn't be wearing it long, so it probably didn’t matter how he felt about it.

He’d ask for something less ridiculous to wear if he wasn’t sure he'd just be ignored. Anakin got the impression that as the sages saw it, his opinion didn’t count for much, which was as predictable as it was infuriating. Every time he passed one of them in chamber he wanted to wring their scrawny little necks.

 _Violence is not the Jedi way,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Obi-Wan reminded him.

 _No,_ he replied, _but it would feel real good right about now._

Anakin sighed and collapsed into the armchair by the door. His room was small and cramped. Utilitarian. The sage who brought him here to prepare assured him the mating chamber was far more accommodating, which was probably meant to make him feel better but _actually_ made him feel like punching them in the throat. The chamber door would open when the selection began and he’d follow the lead of the Prime Sage and do…something.

Apparently, his instincts would show him the way. Whatever that meant. 

Anakin prodded at his bond with Obi-Wan and found it frustratingly impenetrable. Obi-Wan’s mind had been shut to him since their last tense encounter in the council chamber. He didn’t know what kind of reception he’d get if he actually managed to get through to Obi-Wan, but he couldn’t deny that he needed his friend’s reassurance. He was scared. Not battle scared. On the front lines, fear was converted to adrenaline. It became battle fuel—a boon more than a curse. Here, now, fear was useless. He couldn’t change what was about to happen to him. His fear had nowhere to go. Every time he tried to release it into the force, it came back again, stronger than before.

_Master, please…I don’t know what to do…_

There was a moment of silence, then his mind swelled with cautious warmth.

_Anakin?_

_Obi-Wan! Thank the force. Where in sith’s hell have you been?_

_I’m deeply sorry, Padawan. I’ve been busy._

_Not your padawan._

Obi-Wan mental signature shone with guilt and shame so strong it briefly stole Anakin’s breath. _What…_

Obi-Wan’s side of the bond shut like a steel trap. The violent reverberation left Anakin reeling, clutching his sore head. “Oh, what the fuck, Obi-Wan,” he breathed.

He reached out to Ahsoka. _Snips?_

_Master! You okay?_

_Just peachy. You should see the shit they dressed me in. I look like a hutt hooker._

_I’m sure that’s not true._

_You’re right. More like an alderaanian hooker._

Ahsoka’s amusement zipped down the bond and fizzled on his tongue. Anakin smiled. He wished she was here and let her feel it. Ahsoka returned the sentiment and they sat for a moment, basking in the warm silence of their connection.

_Master…have you spoken to Obi-Wan?_

Anakin blinked. _I just tried. He gave me the mother of all headaches. Guy’s moody today for some reason._

Anakin felt Ahsoka hesitate.

_Snips?_

_Just…he’s in a tough spot. I don’t know how much I should say._

Obi-Wan was notoriously private, but Anakin couldn’t deny it hurt that he shared something with Ahsoka he clearly felt he couldn’t share with Anakin.

_Would he want you to tell me?_

_…No._

_Then don’t._

_But, Master—_

_Don’t, Snips. He’ll tell me when he’s ready, or he won’t._

Ahsoka was clearly unhappy with the answer, but subsided.

_Just…don’t be too hard on him when you see him, okay? This is difficult for him as well._

_What’s difficult—_

The chamber door opened. A green-robed sage emerged.

“It is time.”

When Anakin entered the room, everyone knew it.

Obi-Wan could sense spines snapping straight, heads proudly tilting, scent clouds rising and spreading. Obi-Wan barely restrained his own urge to preen and display. All that stopped him was the knowledge that Anakin was walking the long hall into the chamber of the ovum, his dry spice scent floating ahead of him like shimmering heat haze. Maybe it would have been kinder to give him time to adjust to the knowledge that his old master was waiting for him at the end of the hall, but Obi-Wan couldn’t bear the thought of _displaying_ for his padawan like this was a moment to be proud of. It didn’t matter what his body wanted, standing here made Obi-Wan sick with guilt and shame. His relationship with Anakin needed to take precedence over anything else—even his own desire.

Anakin stepped into the light, eyes lowered demurely. An instruction, surely, because Anakin had never been demure a day in his life, but by the force it worked for him.

“Holy fuck,” Quin breathed.

Obi-Wan could only stare. Anakin looked unreal. A vision in cream silk and pearls. His golden hair, so often brushed back carelessly from his face or weighed down with sweat, fell in loose ringlets to skim his collar. Golden skin peaked from the deep-v of his cinched robe in a tease that was undoubtedly deliberate. The garment accentuated his narrow waist, the modest omegan flare of his hips usually hidden by loose jedi robes. He was gorgeous. He always was, but seeing him like this, haloed in the light from the glass dome above their heads made it seem far too real.

Obi-Wan swallowed and found his throat dry as bone.

The sage at Anakin’s elbow whispered something in his ear.

Anakin raised his eyes. He swept the line-up. His gaze snapped to Obi-Wan as though magnetised, surprise showing only in the brief widening of his eyes.

Obi-Wan stiffened. They had all been instructed not to move, but if Anakin demanded he leave, no force on Coruscant would keep him here.

Anakin stared. His lips parted. He inhaled through his mouth.

 _He’s scenting me_ , Obi-Wan realised through the haze of shock. A fission of lightening shot up his spine.

Obi-Wan’s scent, always so tightly controlled, was coaxed from him by nothing more than the faintest suggestion of Anakin’s desire. The cool counterpoint to Anakin’s dry heat, it cut through the other scents in the room like a lightsaber through steel. Anakin’s eyelashes fluttered. His head tilted in a display that had every alpha there—Mace included—rocking forward on their toes. Obi-Wan stayed where he was, but he knew the effort showed.

The sage spoke: “The matched will now remove their robes.”

“Here we fucking go,” Quin muttered.

Obi-Wan was hardly body shy. As a youngling he often played naked with the other children and as a Padawan on the verge of presenting, his curiosity about others’s bodies wasn’t discouraged by the temple. He spent stolen moments in the company of other padawans, learning what he liked and what he didn’t, exploring the variations of pleasure across species and designation lines. He had, in fact, seen most of the bodies in this room in far more intimate settings than simple nakedness. And yet he hesitated, feeling unspeakably awkward.

Anakin’s eyes were lowered again at the sages behest, but through the feathered gold curtain of his lashes, Obi-Wan could feel his gaze like a hand around his cock.

Obi-Wan unbelted his robe and let the black silk pool at his feet. He tried not to squirm as the line-up of ten alphas stood in weighed silence.

Quin brushed their shoulders together and tipped him a cheesy wink. Obi-Wan wanted to smile, let his old friend’s antics buoy him to a lighter mood, but he was shot with nerves. All he had to offer was a weak smile and the fragile hope that this would be over with quickly.

 _Please, I cannot bear for this to go on_ , he prayed to the Force. _Let it be over quickly. Let another be chosen._

He glanced at Anakin and the force of his longing was like a chokehold.

_For both our sakes._

Obi-Wan was here.

The moment the air seal on the chamber broke and Anakin was ushered into the hall, he could feel Obi-Wan like a cool breeze brushing his skin. His force presence was suppressed and his scent was under tight control as it always was, but Anakin still knew. Awareness of Obi-Wan had always been simple. Instinctive. Like finding a familiar light switch in the dark.

Their bond was sealed and would remain sealed until the selection was complete. The sages had made the consequences of any kind of outside interference or failure to engage with the process very clear: Anakin would do this again and again until he chose. The ovatic chamber was sealed in every sense. For all his senses could tell, this chamber was the whole galaxy. 

Anakin could have fallen to his knees with relief. Obi-Wan was here. Everything was going to be alright.

It didn’t occur to Anakin to wonder _why_ Obi-Wan was here until the sage instructed him to raise his eyes and he caught his first glimpse of his potential matches. His gaze swept the line-up: Ferus, _ugh_ , Windu, _hell no_ , Veldrik, _eh_ —Obi-Wan. _Wait, Obi-Wan?_

Anakin skipped to the end of the line, drawn to Obi-Wan’s presence as he always was. Anakin barely noticed Quin and the five other matches, busy as he was drinking in the sight of his old master wearing, well, not much at all.

Karking hell, black silk was a good look on him. The bell-sleeved robe stopped at mid-thigh and was belted loosely at the hips. The robe gaped open at the front, displaying sparse copper chest hair and the beginnings of the thicker swath of darker hair below his belly button. The mound of his cock was visible through thin silk. Anakin wanted it in his mouth _yesterday._ Wanted to kneel at Obi-Wan's feet and mouth at him through silk until he stiffened enough to slip out and into his warm mouth.

Anakin’s lips parted instinctively to scent him, forgetting the futility of it—Obi-Wan never displayed his scent, never responded to Anakin’s arousal no matter how blatant—the man wasn’t interested, had _never_ been interested; and yet, through the noxious clouds of overly aggressive scents suffusing the chamber, there it was. The scent was Obi-Wan made diffuse, a slice of clean mountain air carrying a hint of frost. It tingled on his tongue like the air in a lightening storm, a refreshing counterpoint to the heavy musks of the other alphas.

Anakin felt himself grow slick between the legs and had to bite back a gasp. He couldn’t help the way his neck titled as an invitation to scent, couldn’t help the message it sent.

He’d wanted Obi-Wan for years. The idea that he might finally get him because of a fluke of biology he always resented was painful. He didn’t want any of this. Not this ceremony, not this designation, not this life—but he wanted Obi-Wan. That much had always been true.

His mind began to turn. He was no strategist—not like Obi-Wan, anyway—but he knew which alpha in this room was his best chance of emerging from this chamber with his dignity in tact. If they mated, Obi-Wan would let him return to the war effort, would wait until Anakin was ready to have children, might even wait long enough that Anakin could leave the older without having to experience the indignity of a sage-mandated seeding. For all they bickered and butted heads on the finer points of the code, they were friends, and bedding Obi-Wan would certainly be no hardship on Anakin’s end.

As usual, it was all down to Obi-Wan.

Anakin lowered his eyes again as instructed, releasing his resentment to the force. This sage was a pain in the ass, but he’d yet to meet one who wasn’t.

The matched were told to remove their robes and Anakin took the opportunity to observe his former master from beneath his lashes.

He looked even better out of the robe, which wasn’t surprising.What _was_ surprising was how hesitant he was to disrobe. Obi-Wan wasn’t shy. He’d been chaste with Anakin when they were a master-apprentice pair, but that had more to do with the strict boundaries Obi-Wan adhered to during that time than any inherent prudishness. Anakin had heard enough stories from Quin, Bant and Stass to know that Obi-Wan was hardly a delicate flower in need of careful handling. Or, as Quin would say, “Kenobi’s kind of a whore.”

It wasn’t hard to figure out where this sudden prudishness was coming from. Anakin's chest clenched: it was him.

There had been glimmers of interest from Obi-Wan in the past few years: flat on his back after a hard spar; in the healer’s ward, aching from another close call while Obi-Wan lectured and worried and pretended like he wasn't getting territorial; back at the temple after another night out at a seedy bar, looking at Anakin like he was something impossibly precious, like he wanted to sink teeth into his neck until he had a collar of bruises, like he wanted to run his fingers through Anakin’s hair and twist tight. But interest wasn’t intent, and whatever interest Obi-Wan felt he clearly never planned to act on. 

Knowing Obi-Wan, even if he _did_ want to do more than look he’d be on his death bed before he ever admitted it. No one could martyr themselves like Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Anakin couldn’t ask Obi-Wan to betray his feelings, not for Anakin. If he really didn’t want him, well, Anakin would deal. It had been almost ten years since he first touched himself to thoughts of his master. Unfulfilled desire was nothing new.

The sage took him by the elbow and guided him to Ferus’s end of the line.

“Kneel,” they said.

Anakin knelt.

“Scent,” they said.

Anakin made his way down the line, scenting the musk of each potential alpha right from the source. The closer he got to the end of the line, the more Obi-Wan panicked.

Quin had him firmly by the arm, otherwise he already would have bolted.

“Relax,” he said under his breath. “He won’t touch.”

The frizzle of disappointment Obi-Wan felt only compounded his fear.

Anakin knelt in front of Quin and cast the tattooed Jedi a coy glance from beneath his eyelashes. Quin met his gaze, clearly not as unaffected by the display as he was trying to look. Obi-Wan had seen that lust-drunk look on his friend’s face many times in many interesting positions over the years. This was the first time it had ever made him feel anything but pride in his own skill.

Obi-Wan’s fists clenched. Without sleeves to tuck them into, he was forced to clamp them behind his back and pray anger didn’t leak into his scent.

Anakin took a deep breath of Quin’s musk, lingering longer than he had with any of the others. His eyelashes fluttered and Obi-Wan knew he liked what he smelled—

—Quin was staring at him, eyes wide. “Obi-Wan,” he said cautiously.

Obi-Wan followed the odd pressure around his wrist to its source. Quin had a hold of him, squeezing just tight enough to stop Obi-Wan from reaching for his throat. Obi-Wan's other hand was fisted in Quin's robe, his face contorted in a rictus snarl. 

Master Yoda’s works came back to him. Territorial, he’d called him.

 _Fuck_.

Anakin gazed up at him. The red curve of his full mouth gleamed wet. Hazy blue eyes regarded him with something like wonder. Desire enriched Anakin’s spicy-hot scent with notes of cinnamon and musk. His scent, usually so dry, carried a hint of wetness that Obi-Wan ached to follow to its source between Anakin’s long legs.

Obi-Wan swallowed. He let Quin go.

Anakin stood and bent to whisper something to the sage, keeping his eyes on Obi-Wan.

“But you haven’t even—” the sage said, just loud enough to be heard. For the first time there was some honest emotion in their voice. They sounded baffled, nearly panicked.

Anakin merely stared at the sage, saying nothing more.

The sage hesitated. “You are sure?”

Anakin nodded.

The sage raised his hands in a gesture of ceremony and brought them down in a severing motion. “The matchless are free to go. This selection is now over.” He held out a palm to Obi-Wan. “The selected will approach.”

Obi-Wan could feel Quin’s eyes on him before he followed the others out of the chamber, but all he could truly focus on was Anakin. Anakin whose dry, spicy scent was wrapping around him like a blanket for the first time ever and dragging him forward on clumsy feet. Anakin who looked impossibly gorgeous in cream. Anakin—

—his _padawan_.

Obi-Wan hesitated, muscles straining. He felt as though he was on the threshold of something beautiful and terrible. Like if he tipped over the edge it could be the thrill of his life or a long fall to the end. He reached into the force, searching for guidance, and felt nothing but his own turmoil.

“ _Obi-Wan,_ ” Anakin said. He smiled, crossed the distance between them. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have been scared if it was you.”

Obi-Wan swallowed roughly. Anakin tilted his head, plainly curious. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean _what’s wrong_?” Obi-Wan was vaguely alarmed by how high his voice sounded.

Anakin threaded their fingers together and squeezed, apparently deciding to ignore him. He nodded to the sage, who guided them through the chamber of the ovum, down a long hall, and into the room at the very end of the hall. He closed the door behind them.

The minute he was out of earshot, Anakin ran to the bed. He took a flying leap and landed on the cloud-like mass, laughing like a loon. He grinned at Obi-Wan who could only watch, struck dumb, as his former padawan sprawled across their mating bed like a feast.

“What,” Obi-Wan said blankly, “is going on?”

Anakin blinked at him from where he was snuggling a pillow, getting the room good and saturated with his scent. Obi-Wan opened his mouth and Anakin’s scent flooded in. Force, he could _taste_ him. Instead of the rebuke Obi-Wan had ready, he released a groan.

Anakin looked at him, wide-eyed. “Obi-Wan?”

Anakin crawled off the bed and Obi-Wan had to shut his eyes to block out the image, and even then it was painted across his eyelids. Anakin’s robe gaping to display the sun-kissed planes of his chest, the fluid stalk of his tight body.

Anakin approached quietly, indiscernibly—a true Jedi—but Obi-Wan felt more attuned to him than his own body. He could be as scentless as the force-blank sages and Obi-Wan would still know where he was.

“This is alright, yeah?” Anakin tried to clasp his shoulder, but Obi-Wan caught his wrist. Even that small touch was almost too much. He was balanced on the precipice of rut. One small tilt in the wrong direction and he would fall into it headfirst.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes.

Anakin was flushed to the collarbones, bright-eyed and breathless.

“You don’t want this,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin frowned. “I know what I want. I’ve always known.”

“You’re in heat.”

“Barely. If anyone’s impaired, it’s you. You’ve been near rut for weeks.” Anakin faltered. “You do want this…don’t you?”

“I was selected.”

“I thought…” Anakin’s expression was difficult to interpret, but their bond was as wide-open as their scents. Anakin’s emotions, though tangled, were simple: faith in Obi-Wan, trust that everything would be alright now that they were together, love— _force—_ such boundless, depthless love. Desire. Desire to have Obi-Wan any way he could get him. Fear that he would only get him out of obligation, that Obi-Wan didn’t want him like he wanted Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan blinked, struck dumb by the onslaught.

_Force, I’ve been blind._

Before he knew he was moving, Obi-Wan had brought Anakin’s wrist to his lips and placed a kiss right to the delicate underside. Anakin’s lips parted. His eyes darkened. Obi-Wan dragged his lips up Anakin’s forearm to the bend of his elbow where the silken sleeve pooled. Gooseflesh bloomed in his wake. Heat rose from Anakin’s skin. His scent, his body. He was all heat. Impossibly beautiful.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, tremulous. Obi-Wan pulled back, feeling drugged.

“Yes?” He pressed close, careful not to touch more than he already was and scented the rich skin of his neck. Anakin's scent was more than spice and heat. There was musk too, the slightest heady hint of honey pooling on the back of his tongue.

Anakin scented him back. He whimpered and pressed their foreheads together. They both gasped at the contact. “You want this?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes. _Force_ , yes.”

“You’re sure? Because you weren't before.”

“I am. Force preserve me, but I am.”

Anakin smiled, shyly pleased. He pressed palms against Obi-Wan’s chest. He bent to nose the skin behind Obi-Wan’s ear. “I never thought you wanted me like this.”

Obi-Wan shivered, tilting his head to give Anakin greater access. Anakin suckled the skin, sending pulses of gentle warmth down his neck. “Tried not to think about it.”

Anakin pulled back. “Because we’re attached?”

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. _Of all the reasons_ …“Because you’re my padawan.”

Anakin smiled. He kissed the hinge of his jaw, lingering. “I keep telling you I’m not your padawan anymore.” As though he was attempting to prove it, Anakin reeled Obi-Wan in by the neck and brushed their lips together: the barest suggestion of a kiss. “You never listen, Master.”

Obi-Wan huffed. He threaded his fingers through Anakin’s curls and tugged just enough to make his eyelashes flutter. “Maybe that’s because you insist on calling me _master_.”

“I like it.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Anakin laughed. He looked at Obi-Wan through his lashes. “It’s not like I never offered, you know.”

“I believe I would have remembered that.”

“You were pretty tired and admittedly, I wasn’t serious, but it’s not like I would have said no.” Anakin kissed the corner of his mouth, slipped a hand inside the vee of his robe to skim his stomach. Obi-Wan caught his hand before it could dip lower.

“Careful with that,” he said. His voice emerged low and gravelly, rough with rut hormones. He wasn’t quite over the edge yet, but a few more bold touches and he would be.

“I can smell how close you are. It’s… _force,_ Obi-Wan, you make me want to…”

“What?” He reeled Anakin in until they were pressed flush together. “What do you want, my lovely boy?”

Anakin whined and bared his throat. His eyes were hazy. His scent sung promises Obi-Wan wanted to explore so badly he ached, but he forced himself still and asked again, “What do you want?”

“You really need me to say it?”

Obi-Wan smiled and rested their foreheads together. “I’m afraid I really do.”

Anakin stepped back and for a split-second, the agony of perceived rejection was so acute Obi-Wan thought he'd been stabbed. Then his mind flooded with the hot rush of Anakin’s desire and Obi-Wan stumbled forwards towards the bed, following where Anakin led as he invariably always would. Anakin slid back on the bed and his robe slipped over his bare thighs and pooled at his waist.

He wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“ _Force_ , Anakin.”

Anakin lay back and let his thighs fall open. Obi-Wan groaned and had to close his eyes as his vision spun. It did nothing to erase the visual: that plump cunt, dewy as a ripe peach; that smell, a smoky sweet musk so unmistakably _Anakin_ it had him tenting his robe with barely even a touch. 

Anakin smiled like a self-satisfied loth cat, prey securely underpaw.

“Come here, Master,” Anakin purred, beckoning him forward.

Obi-Wan could do nothing but follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the first draft had Anakin cut the ceremony short the literal second he saw Obi-Wan, but since I talked the whole selection business up, I thought I'd drag it out at least a little bit. 
> 
> In these fics it's always Anakin who pines relentlessly for Obi-Wan, but I kind of like the idea of Obi-Wan stewing in it and Anakin kind of just being like, "Yeah, I want to bone my master. So what? Old news." 
> 
> Yes, Anakin is totally a power bottom. Fight me. 
> 
> Well, was it everything you hoped for? What did you like or dislike? Let me know in the comments and we'll chat. Thanks for coming along for this ride. I'm having a blast. 
> 
> Next chapter: stay tuned for the smutty interlude. It won't be story essential, so if you're sex-squicked or repulsed-ace, no worries. You won't miss out on anything but some good, old-fashioned boning.


	7. Vernalisation [NC-17 Interlude]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn entirely optional. Porn entirely indulgent.  
> Enjoy.
> 
> CW: Explicit sex, overuse of the c**t word, typical ABO heat-rut nonsense.

Anakin rarely had the upper hand against his master. He would best Obi-Wan in a spar as often as he was bested, and in the field they worked with the kind of terrifying synchronicity that made them boogeymen to the separatist forces and heroes of the Republic. Rarely did one have a true advantage over the other, which was just the way Anakin liked it. He’d been trying to catch up to his master since he was ten years old and finally felt like they were on even footing. To be on par with a master of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s calibre was beyond what any knight could dream of. Anakin was incredibly lucky.

That being said, leading Obi-Wan around by his knot felt pretty damn good too.

It was probably unfair. Obi-Wan had been on the verge of rut for weeks and Anakin was _just_ beginning to feel a little hot under the collar with his own season. It was a power imbalance he wouldn’t usually take advantage of, but to see his buttoned-up, stuffy former master lose that cultivated composure bit by bit was thrilling. An Obi-Wan in the thrall of his hormones was a captivating sight. Anakin always thought he would be. He used to touch himself thinking about it, slip fingers in where he was wet and dripping from thoughts of his master’s hands, his scent, his _knot_ , and work himself until his cunt was a burning clench and he was sobbing into his pillow.

He’d come to thoughts of Obi-Wan since he was sixteen. The idea that the man would soon be touching him, that he _wanted_ to, was almost too much to bear. Obi-Wan’s desire filled his chest with sunlight, made his vice of a heart clench and ache. Oh, how he’d wanted this. Oh, how ready he was.

Anakin laid back against the pillows, propped up on both elbows, and beckoned Obi-Wan forward.

“Come here, Master.”

Obi-Wan came. He looked— _force_ —he looked gorgeous. His auburn hair was darkened with rut sweat and his pale blue eyes shone like struck platinum as they flicked over his body and caught between his legs. Anakin parted his knees just enough to tease what waited for him, what had _been_ waiting for him for nearly ten years.

Obi-Wan stopped at the foot of the bed. He cupped Anakin’s knees and ever so gently pushed them apart. Anakin let his knees fall, let him look his fill. Simply being watched was enough to flush him with tingling warmth from head to toe, was enough to make his nipples pebble and his sex wet.

Obi-Wan’s mouth parted to taste his scent and his eyelashes fluttered. Caught in the thrall of pleasure, he was unspeakably lovely. Anakin wanted him like he had never wanted anyone. Longing made his chest ache, made him squirm for more.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, trying not to whine.

Obi-Wan dropped suddenly to his knees and Anakin yelped as he was dragged to the foot of the bed.

“What,” he said breathlessly, “Obi-W—”

Anakin whined as Obi-Wan, without even a hint of warning, buried his nose between the folds of Anakin’s cunt and _inhaled_.

“ _Oh,_ ” Anakin whimpered.

Obi-Wan groaned and Anakin felt the vibrations from cunt to core. He arched, trying to get closer the heat, the pressure, but Obi-Wan held his hips in a vice, gentled him with soothing little shushing noises.

“It’s alright, dear one. Let me take care of you.” Obi-Wan’s eyes were shiny, pupils blown, as he smiled at Anakin across the flat plane of his torso. “Lay back and relax.”

Anakin dropped flat and gave himself into Obi-Wan’s care. His tension released into the force and the ache in his cunt swelled until his whole body felt as sensitive as his core. 

“That’s it, just like that,” Obi-Wan murmured. He kissed the root of Anakin’s cock. “Perfect.”

Anakin could feel Obi-Wan in the force. His gentle presence, typically as placid as a lake, swelled with storm currents and the threat of lightening. His scent, so cool and restorative, tingled with ozone and skittered across Anakin’s skin in pulsing electric currents. The force sang with their union. It drew him in, drew him down to Obi-Wan’s depths, wound them together so tightly their bond blazed.

Anakin arched, gave himself over entirely to the will of the force. “Now,” he moaned, “Obi-Wan, _now_.”

Obi-Wan didn’t waste a second. Between one breath and the next he was nosing between his folds, licking deep. Anakin contorted, wanting him closer, wanting him up where Anakin could see him, wanting him _in_.

Anakin hooked a knee around Obi-Wan’s head and guided him into a rhythm, a push and pull that was as elemental as the force swirling around their bodies, pulsing louder, brighter, with their every move. 

Obi-Wan pulled back, gasping, dazed. His sharp eyes were glazed. He looked drunk, as if he were already two bottles deep. Anakin could no longer stand to have him so far away.

Quick as a viper, he yanked Obi-Wan up his body by the robe. The black silk ripped at both shoulders, seams popping loose, but Obi-Wan hardly seemed to care. He shrugged off the last of his clothes and covered Anakin from head to toe. His mouth slipped inside the gape of Anakin’s robe as his cock rode the seam of his pelvis. He nuzzled Anakin’s chest, mouthing at Anakin’s nipples, travelling upwards to the the fragrant skin of his pulse point where he settled and sucked the sensitive skin. He nipped at the reddening skin, leaving an imprint of his claim in scent as well as sight.

Anakin groaned and fisted Obi-Wan’s hair. Anakin yanked the slighter man upwards until he hovered over him. They watched one another, the force humming around them like a contented animal.

Anakin brushed their lips together. “Will you let me kiss you?”

“I’ll do more than let you,” Obi-Wan said, pressing a lush kiss to the corner of his mouth. Anakin’s mouth parted. “Oh, how I’ve wanted this.”

“Wish I’d known.”

“Thought I was rather obvious.”

“Huh, me too. Aren’t we a pair.”

“Quite. Now,” Obi-Wan smiled teasingly, a familiar taunting gleam in his eyes, “are you going to kiss me or am I going to have to do all the work?”

“ _All the!—_ I’ll show _you_ all the work.”

Anakin clutched Obi-Wan between his thighs and flipped them in a single move. Obi-Wan’s back hit the mattress—hard. Anakin shed his robe. Obi-Wan took in his naked body with covetous eyes. Anakin captured his wrists and pressed them to the soft white sheets.

“Stay there, Master,” he purred and slotted their lips together.

It was… _stars_ , it was—

Lightening, ozone, the welcoming warmth of a lit hearth. It was essential, elemental. It was everything _._

Obi-Wan shuddered and arched, opening to Anakin as easily as he ever did, offering of himself whatever Anakin needed. Anakin chased the cool-crisp flavour deeper, pressing their lips together so hard it burned and stung.

Obi-Wan thrust up abruptly, whining in the back of his throat. The sound juddered through Anakin like the aftershock of an earthquake. He pulled back from the kiss, mouth hot and swollen, and luxuriated in languid heat building in the base of his spine, pulling at his body like a riptide. Obi-Wan panted beneath him, sweating, mouth slack and eyes glazed. He was a vision. Anakin wanted to devour him whole.

Anakin ground down, getting Obi-Wan’s cock right where he wanted it. It slipped between his folds, riding the slippery seam of his sex, nudging where he was molten hot and weeping. Anakin’s head rolled back. He planted his hands on Obi-Wan’s chest and let his hips roll, riding the delicious pressure as the urgent heat in his belly built and built. His soft cock bounced, slapping the slippery skin of Obi-Wan's stomach, refusing to stiffen during heat, but still as sensitive as any other part of him.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed, expression twisted like he was in pain. His hands fisted at his side, hips juddering in aborted little thrusts, fat red lip caught between his teeth.

Anakin bent to kiss the abused flesh, tugged it into his own mouth to suckle. He released it gently. “Touch me, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s hands were on his hips instantly. He tilted his hips, found an angle that ground them together tight and hard. Anakin gasped as his vision spun with stars. His whole body was one hot flush. He clenched down on nothing. Force, he was so _empty_. He ached for something to fuck up inside him—for _Obi-Wan_.

“Get inside me,” he whispered.

“Can’t.” Obi-Wan’s voiced was pained, his eyes apologetic. “You’re in heat.”

 _We can’t risk conception,_ Obi-Want sent.

Anakin groaned. “It’ll be _fine_.”

“Anakin—”

“I won’t get pregnant, I promise.”

Obi-Wan paused, hands wandering to grab his ass and halt their slick movements. Anakin whimpered.

“No games, Anakin. This is important.”

“I know that,” he said dismissively. But Obi-Wan looked so serious, too serious for the moment. Anakin slumped over on his chest, tucked his face into his neck and nuzzled. “I _know_ ,” he said quietly. “I do.”

“I can give you my fingers,” he offered.

“Give me your cock.”

“Anakin—”

“I told you, I’ve got it covered.” Anakin kissed his chin, the sensitive skin beneath his bristles. “Trust me.”

Obi-Wan sighed, kissed his forehead. “Alright.”

Obi-Wan rolled him over gently. Anakin let himself be moved, desiring Obi-Wan above him, over him. In him.

Obi-Wan slotted between his legs like he was made to be there, guided his knees to bend and his legs to open wide with gentle, saber-calloused hands. Obi-Wan felt between his legs and found him wet and wanting, more than ready. Obi-Wan licked his lips.

“Ready?”

Anakin’s legs closed around his waist like a vice. He pulled Obi-Wan in by the ass so fast he grunted. Anakin reached between them and grabbed him by the root, testing the generous size and heft. He was hotter here than anywhere else on his body, the heat of rut centred in his sex. Anakin’s mouth flooded and his core ached.

“I’m ready. I’ve _been_ ready.” Anakin pulled him down for a swift, hard kiss. “Years, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s throat bobbed. He looked at Anakin as though he was the most precious thing in the universe—and the most terrifying. He always had.

“Let’s not wait any longer then.”

Obi-Wan nudged inside, a slow, steady push that had Anakin’s head spinning, a keen rising from the base of his stomach. In and in he pushed, until he could go no further.

Anakin felt stuffed, sensitised almost to the point of pain. He grabbed Obi-Wan’s ass and guided his movements, kept him grinding, small, tight circles until Anakin’s muscles loosened and the over-sensitised ache became electric.

His grip slackened and his head rolled both, mouth open to the ceiling. Obi-Wan got a hand under his knee, bent it back towards his head, pressed impossibly deeper. His cock dragged inside, deep and slow. Anakin matched his rhythm instinctively and they moved together as fluidly, as beautifully as they did on the battlefield.

Anakin got lost in it. His sighs became moans, became keens as Obi-Wan picked up the pace, striking faster, deeper, at the place inside of Anakin that was always just out of reach. Anakin widened his legs, arched, worked his hips to find the right angle, get Obi-Wan where he needed him.

Anakin whimpered, frustrated, feeling so _so_ good. Why wasn't it _enough?_

“What is it?” Obi-Wan panted against his cheek, dragging lips to his ear. “What do you need, darling?”

“I don’t—” Anakin cut himself off, frustrated. He didn’t know what he needed except _more._ His sex pulsed, hot and ready to clamp and spasm and milk Obi-Wan for every drop. He was right on the edge. But he wasn’t there yet.

Anakin shook his head furiously and bucked, impaling himself hard enough to make them both gasp. _Still_ not enough.

Obi-Wan gentled him, guided his legs flat, and rubbed his flanks as his hips slowed to a fluid roll.

 _Nooo,_ Anakin whined inside his mind.

 _Trust me, darling._ Obi-Wan kissed him, hot and slow. _Do you trust me?_

 _Always_.

With their bond wide open, it was a simple matter for Obi-Wan to slip inside his mind. He came like a cool wind, banking the heat in his mind, parted the mists of confusion and frustration. Their force signatures blended together. They sung in harmonious counterpoint, a resonance that enflamed Anakin’s passions and had him biting back a wail as his arousal rocketed to full force.

“ _Oh!”_ He gasped.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had Obi-Wan flat on his back and was mounting that tall proud cock in one fluid motion. They came together violently. This— _this_ —was what he was missing.

Anakin set a punishing pace, pinning Obi-Wan’s hips and working himself up and down his length in long, hard strokes. Obi-Wan growled and caught Anakin by the hips. His eyes glittered dangerously, his teeth bared in fierce display. Anakin met his growl with one of his own, high and responsive but no less fierce.

Anakin bared his neck, felt his scent turn humid and sweet—an invitation.

Obi-Wan flipped them again. He caught Anakin’s thighs and pressed them into the bed beside his head. He shoved into Anakin so deeply and perfectly, Anakin purred. Anakin turned his face into the pillows, proudly baring the long line of his throat as Obi-Wan worked his cock inside him.

Obi-Wan licked the line of his throat, laving his pulse point. He nibbled the skin, testing his readiness for mating. Anakin nearly sobbed.

“Please!"

Obi-Wan pulled back from his neck. He ignored Anakin's whine of displeasure. He continued thrusting, abs clenching. He looked at Anakin through slitted eyes, teeth clenched and grinding, struggling not to bite.

“I’ll mate you,” he said. A warning.

“ _Yes_ ,” Anakin hissed.

Obi-Wan didn’t waste time. He tilted Anakin’s head back, took his throat between his teeth and bit down—hard.

Anakin yelped. His legs broke Obi-Wan’s hold and wrapped around his waist, constricting. He arched up, slammed Obi-Wan’s cock deep inside where his truest ache lived and flared with excruciating brightness— _finally_ —like a fucking firework going off.

Anakin’s yelp became a moan as he orgasmed. It pulsed through him, a hurtful, euphoric ache that made his toes curl and his hips buck. He chased the ripples of pleasure. Obi-Wan helped him along, laving the mating bite, inlaying his scent as his hips worked in gentle concert with Anakin’s.

Anakin felt Obi-Wan begin to go off-rhythm. Lip between his teeth, eyes shut, Obi-Wan rutted between his legs, chasing the diminishing spasms. Anakin clenched, working the hardness inside him to a throbbing heat.

“Gonna do it?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan didn’t make a sound, didn’t look at him.

Anakin cupped his cheeks, ran his thumbs over his eyelids until they fluttered open. Obi-Wan looked pained, conflicted all over again.

“It’s okay,” Anakin whispered, dropping gentle kisses all over his face. “I want it.”

Anakin bucked, hauled Obi-Wan in by the ass and ground them together until Obi-Wan’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went hazy.

“I want you to fuck me, come inside me, get me all wet.”

Obi-Wan blushed. “ _Anakin_.”

Anakin bit back a grin. Given the choice between taking pleasure and denying himself, Obi-Wan would always choose denial. But not today.

“Knot me, Master,” Anakin breathed, stretching languidly beneath Obi-Wan, laying himself open to his jerky thrusts. He peered at Obi-Wan from beneath his lashes, licked his lips. 

Obi-Wan groaned. His cock pulsed, began to thicken at the base.

“I want it, want you. Want you so deep inside I’ll feel you for days. Want you to pump me so full I’ll taste you in the back of my throat.”

Obi-Wan gasped. His hips juddered. His knot expanded to a fist sized plug. Anakin sighed, a fresh wave of omegan lassitude moving through him as his sheath stretched to accomodate his mate’s girth. There was no urgency in this pleasure, only contented pride. Anakin lay back and let Obi-Wan’s orgasm wash over him. He reached down and stroked his emptying balls, clenched down on his cock and felt it pulse with fresh release.

Anakin followed the sensation, tracked Obi-Wan’s essence to his womb and gently closed the door to it. _Not now,_ he said into the beating heart of the force, _not yet_. And, as it always did when the Chosen One spoke, the force listened.

Anakin watched Obi-Wan bask in his orgasm, utterly sated. Obi-Wan was a gorgeous sight no matter the occasion, but in the throes of pleasure he was especially magnetic. Anakin traced his jaw and smiled when Obi-Wan caught his thumb playfully between his teeth.

Anakin drew Obi-Wan down to him, wrapped him in his arms and reached out with the force to pull the blankets over them.

Obi-Wan dropped kisses across his collarbones, scented his throbbing pulse and licked the skin when it started weeping again.

Guilt spread between them.

“None of that,” Anakin murmured. He yawned and buried his nose in Obi-Wan’s soft hair. “I wanted it. No take backs.”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said after a pause. He sounded drained, but when Anakin cracked an eye open to look at him a few moments later his face was slack. A small smile graced his lips.

Anakin kissed the top of his head and was abruptly, fiercely grateful to have this man in his life. Whatever happened tomorrow or in the future, he would get through it so long as he had Obi-Wan.

Anakin followed his master into sleep, but not before reaching into the force and sending a heartfelt prayer of gratitude.

The force eddied around them, a calm oasis in a galactic storm—and reached back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The porn is here! *jazz hands*
> 
> I realised they didn't have a 'big first kiss' last chapter while I was writing this, so I hope this makes up for it. I guess in my brain the emotional catharsis was more important. It didn't occur to me what was missing until I went to write the smut. So..sorry? I dunno, I still think it works. I'm not a big romance reader though, so I'm not in the know when it comes to all the tropey milestones.   
> Let me know what you thought :)
> 
> Next chapter: Anakin and Obi-Wan hatch a daring plan and Ahsoka and Quin do some shady shit in the name of family.


	8. Seed, Pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin and Obi-Wan hatch an escape plan. Ahsoka is on the case. Quin is...Quin.
> 
> CW: brief, joking reference to suicide; talk of forced pregnancy, miscarriage, and non-con/icky power dynamics.

Anakin woke to a pleasant weight across his chest and a knot deep between his legs. He clenched down on Obi-Wan’s cock and enjoyed the omegan lassitude it brought as heat rolled through his body. It was a pale shade of last night’s blaze but just as satisfying.

Force, Anakin felt _amazing_. If he’d known all he needed to do to feel this good was work his master up to a rutting frenzy and line him up with ten other alphas designed to stoke his territorial instinct, he would have—well—he wouldn’t have done anything like that, but he might have propositioned him earlier and not walked away without an honest yes or no answer. Obi-Wan probably would have said no. Anakin was under no illusions about the man. His former master was a glutton for punishment who lived to agonise over the morality of his every decision. Wanting to fuck his former padawan was precisely the kind of moral grey area he abhorred. Still, he couldn’t say he was particularly sorry recent circumstances had forced Obi-Wan’s hand.

Obi-Wan nuzzled his chest, beard scraping the sensitive skin of his chest, just the right side of too much. Anakin groaned. Obi-Wan froze.

Obi-Wan propped his chin on Anakin’s sternum.

“Okay?” He asked, clearly still half asleep.

“Wizard,” Anakin said with a toothy grin.

Obi-Wan groaned and dropped his head, looking like he was wishing for a harder surface to bash it against.

“Don’t say _that_.”

“What?” Anakin asked innocently.

Obi-Wan bit his nipple in reproach. Anakin yelped, which quickly devolved into laughter.

“You’re such a brat.”

“Well, you’d know.”

“Please, don’t remind me.”

Anakin stroked Obi-Wan’s mass of auburn hair, marvelling at how fine it felt between his fingers, like the pelt of some magnificent tundra beast.

“You didn’t raise me, you know.”

“I appreciate the effort Anakin, but I think you’ll find I did.”

“I had a mother.”

Obi-Wan fell silent.

“A mother I loved. I never looked at you like that.” Anakin stroked Obi-Wan’s neck. He’d left several love bites in shades of red and purple and was feeling pretty smug about it. “You were my friend. Maybe, sometimes, you were like an annoying older brother—one that wasn’t home a lot and who sent e-cards on holidays.”

Anakin shifted until Obi-Wan settled firmly in the cradle of his thighs. He cupped Obi-Wan’s face, thumbing the soft bristles of his short beard.

“I trusted you. You were an excellent teacher. But you weren’t my family back then, and by the time you were I wasn’t thinking of you like a father or a brother.” Anakin brought Obi-Wan’s head down for a kiss. He lingered, tasting what remained of his own heat-musk on Obi-Wan’s lips. He smiled against his lips, sharing breath. “ _Definitely_ not a brother.”

Obi-Wan’s smile was slow, brimming with cautious joy. He brought Anakin’s palm to his lips and kissed the centre. “You never cease to amaze me, Anakin.”

Anakin shrugged, grinned. “Yeah, well, comes with the job.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“Chosen One,” he said, sing-song.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Chosen to give me a heart attack, perhaps.”

Anakin tightened his grip on Obi-Wan’s waist and flipped their positions. Obi-Wan’s back hit the bed. Anakin settled his full weight on Obi-Wan’s hips and ground down. Obi-Wan went slightly cross-eyed.

“I’ll give _you_ a heart attack, old man.”

Obi-Wan smirked up at him and grabbed Anakin by the hips to hold him steady. “Promises, promises, young one.”

Anakin grinned and got to work.

Needless to say, their mating bed was thoroughly despoiled by the time they were done with it, and so was Anakin. Though, if you asked Anakin, he would probably say it was _him_ who’d done the despoiling, and thinking back on the strange series of events that led to their mating, Obi-Wan could hardly disagree. If anyone had been the stereotypical anxious virgin on their mating night, it was him. 

Anakin seemed perfectly at ease with the shift in their relationship, like it was something he expected would happen all along. He treated Obi-Wan no differently than before and seemed to be having zero issues navigating the gulf between the Anakin and Obi-Wan of _then_ and the Anakin and Obi-Wan of _now_.

Obi-Wan wished he could say the same. The guilt he felt fordesiring his former padawan was a flicker of its former self, no longer likely to burn him. Rather, it was like the heat from a gaslamp, only noticeable when his hands were pressed against the warm glass. If he didn’t think about it, ruminate on it and try to dredge it all back up again, it was content to remain buried. A sleeping dragon, but not a particularly sinister one.

With time, he would be able to let this go.

As for the rest…that was more complicated.

Obi-Wan was Anakin’s mate by the will of the force, but he would not be his mate forever. It was not the way of the mandate. Once the sages decided he had borne enough of Obi-Wan’s children, another selection would take place and a new mate would be found for the Chosen One—a future he suspected Anakin had not yet considered.

_One problem at a time._

Obi-Wan traced the seal on the door to their mating chamber. There was no hint of a breeze. No airflow whatsoever. It was probably designed to keep their heat-rut scent from spreading. The chamber might be sealed, but the air vents travelled throughout the temple. A verdant enough mating could incite a frenzy if it wasn’t contained. Unfortunately, that left the door without weaknesses, and seeing as their room had no windows or distinguishing characteristics of any kind beyond their single large mating bed, their avenues of release were limited.

The sages would let them out or they would not.

Obi-Wan eyed the pitcher of water by the bed. They’d almost finished it. The sages might come to refill it, offer them use of a bathroom to clean up. They’d undoubtedly want to take Anakin for testing, judge the results of their union beyond the evidence of their noses. Obi-Wan’s hackles rose, a snarl catching in the back of his throat.

 _None of that_ , he chided.

His rut was behind him, but the territoriality remained. Obi-Wan suspected it always would.

“Breaking us out?” Anakin asked. He was sprawled across the bed, looking well and truly relaxed despite the circumstances. Obi-Wan didn’t expect it to last. If Anakin could be counted on to be anything, it was mercurial.

“Considering our options.”

“I wouldn’t get too excited. Door’s sealed and they’ve only left us enough glass to slit our wrists if we’re _really_ creative.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan chided.

“What? It’s the truth. And once they test me and see I’m not pregnant, who the hell knows what they’ll do. I’m hoping they’ll accept it as ‘the will of the force’, but who knows with those old cranks.”

Obi-Wan returned to Anakin’s side and didn’t resist when Anakin pulled him down and propped his head in Obi-Wan’s lap.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, wondering how best to broach the subject.

Anakin beat him to it. “I’m not pregnant. I won’t _get_ pregnant. I won’t ever _be_ pregnant. Not unless I want to be.” Anakin peered up at him, gaze steady and sure. “I told you that last night.”

He had. Obi-Wan had assumed it was youthful exuberance. Anakin had a bad habit of overestimating his own luck, after all. If he _was_ pregnant, well, Obi-Wan would follow his lead. There were pills for every eventuality after all, and miscarriages were all too common in wartime. It would not be difficult to find a creative solution.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” Obi-Wan said. “They flushed my system of birth control before I entered the chamber. I assumed the same was done to you.”

Anakin gave him an odd look. “Yeah, but…that doesn’t actually _matter_. Not to us.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, I’m afraid. My understanding of designation biology is either greatly different to yours or you know something I don’t.”

Anakin sat up. “You really don’t know?”

Obi-Wan stared at him patiently. Thankfully, with his rut well and truly sated, he no longer needed to fake it.

Anakin placed a hand over his stomach. “I can control it. Y’know, with the force.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “That…shouldn’t be possible.”

“No one told _me_ that.” Anakin paused, seeming to weigh the implications of what he’d said for the first time. “So other Jedi seriously can’t control when they conceive?”

“No. They certainly cannot.”

“Oh…well. Guess it must be a Chosen One thing.”

Obi-Wan softened, thumbed his cheek, enjoying the feel of warm, soft skin. “You amaze me.”

Anakin kissed his hand, grinned against his knuckles. “I’d amaze you again if I thought we could sneak in another round without being interrupted.”

“Hmm, yes. I sense our new friends will be joining us soon.”

“We’ll need a plan. One that doesn’t reveal my, y’know, ‘secret weapon’.”

Secret weapon indeed. Anakin’s ability to command the force was second to none. Obi-Wan might have deduced he would have the ability to disrupt conception if he’d taken the time to think about it. Which meant, of course, they could not discount the possibility of the sages discovering it on their own.

“They will not let you leave without testing.” Obi-Wan paused. “They…may not let you leave at all.”

Anakin snorted. “What, you think they’ll keep me here until I’m up the duff?”

“The sages are a secretive group. Any information regarding their ceremonies laws and history beyond the primary mandate is highly restricted.”

“How highly restricted?”

“High enough that I don’t even have access to it.” Obi-Wan swallowed. “We must consider the possibility that they intend to keep you here whether you conceive or not.”

Anakin bared his teeth in an aborted snarl. “They wouldn’t fucking _dare_. I’m like the poster boy for the war. They couldn’t get away with locking me up for nine months. The public would riot.” Anakin hesitated, looking strangely vulnerable. “Besides, the council wouldn’t let that happen…would they?”

 _Would you?_ Went unspoken, but not unheard.

Obi-Wan brought Anakin’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.

“I will do everything in my power to ensure your freedom. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Anakin breathed. He shook his head. “I know. I’m just…this is all so fucking backwards Obi-Wan. I know the Jedi love tradition and all, but this level of arcane bullshit isn’t something I ever thought I’d have to deal with. I chose you. I don’t regret it and I wouldn’t change it, but that’s where it ends. I don’t want a kid and I don’t want to be stuck here while our people die out there on the frontlines.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t speak to the actions of the council, but he knew his own mind. He knew his own heart. He would not be party to this. Whatever jurisdiction the sages had over the council that allowed them to usurp the grand master’s power needed to be challenged. The question was, how to go about it in the middle of the war when personnel were scattered and council attention was split?

At any other time, Obi-Wan would have challenged the council directly and petitioned for a change to the framework of the order. But this was not peacetime. No matter how personal this felt to Obi-Wan, compared to the separatist threat to the galaxy, it was nothing.

They would have to find another way to challenge the sages hold on Anakin.

“You won’t be stuck here,” Obi-Wan promised. “All we need to do is get you out of this chamber and beyond the walls of the temple.”

Anakin’s eyes lit.

“Then we can meet up with our men and go full guerrilla on this war.”

“Now, hold on. We’re not going _rogue,_ Anakin.”

Anakin actually looked disappointed. “We’re not?”

“No. The war will have to wait. Our war, I’m afraid, takes precedence and I know of only one person capable enough and cunning enough to help us wage it.”

“Who?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Who do you think?”

“You’re sure about this?” Obi-Wan asked for the fifth time.

Anakin rolled his eyes. You could take the man out of the master, but you couldn’t take the master out of the man. “ _Yes_.”

“I just want to be sure—“

“—I _am_ sure. Trust me.”

Obi-Wan squeezed his hand. “I do.”

Anakin took a deep breath. “Then let’s do this.”

_Ready, Snips?_

There was a worrying pause.

_Are you sure about this, Master?_

_Do you and Obi-Wan share a brain or something?_

_Why? Does Obi-Wan think this is stupid too? Because—_

_Obi-Wan’s onboard._

_Master…if you get caught_ —

_I won’t._

_You don’t know that._

_Do too._

Ahsoka sighed. _Just…be careful, okay? There’s no way I’m training another master._

_Is that right?_

_Yep. You’re stuck with me, Skyguy._

Anakin let affection pulse between them.

_See you on the other side, Snips._

_You better._

By the time the sages unsealed the door, Anakin had worked himself up to a convincing frenzy. He paced in front of the door and lunged at them, held back by Obi-Wan’s arm around his waist.

The sages took a satisfying step backwards, radiating wariness. There were four of them. Two for each Jedi. Enough to give them trouble if they wanted to fight their way out but not so many that they were planning for resistance. They knew as well as Anakin and Obi-Wan did that even if they left the chamber, they still had the order to contend with. Leaving this place wasn’t _truly_ leaving.

Anakin bared his teeth and produced a gravelly growl from the depths of hit gut. The message was clear: stay back or I’ll rip your fucking throats out.

Obi-Wan stepped into the role of mediator.

“Apologies, my friends. I’m afraid he’s been territorial all morning. Nothing personal.”

It was commonly known that a quickening omega fresh from the mating bed was one of the most dangerous creatures in creation. They would not take Anakin’s threat lightly, and they wouldn’t be ignorant of the implications.

“Knight Skywalker will accompany us to the examination chamber.”

Two sages wearing bronze sashes approached Anakin, brandishing their lightsaber pikes in a defensive grip. Anakin growled louder, top lip curling into a snarl. They froze.

Obi-Wan stepped in front of Anakin.

“How about we do this another way, hm?”

“Knight Skywalker will come with us.”

“Yes, but on his own terms. Unless you want to try and force him.”

Anakin lunged forward over Obi-Wan’s shoulder and the sages bearing pikes jumped backwards.

“Uh-uh, easy love. None of that,” Obi-Wan said soothingly. He ran fingers through Anakin’s hair until his growl became a purr. “That’s good. That’s very good.”

The sages regarded them in silence.

 _This better work,_ Obi-Wan thought.

 _It will,_ Anakin returned.

“Master Kenobi, you will escort Knight Skywalker to the healing chamber.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan murmured.

_Well done, Anakin._

_We’re not done yet._

They followed the sages down the hall. Obi-Wan escorted Anakin with an arm around his waist. Anakin played the part of territorial omega well enough that the sages who were supposed to be flanking them close behind, pulled right back. They approached one of the larger chambers that led off from the chamber of the ovum.

 _Show time,_ Anakin thought.

Obi-Wan squeezed his waist in solidarity.

Anakin lashed out suddenly and violently, pushing Obi-Wan aside. The sages at the front of the group, unlike their more wary brethren, were within reach. Anakin bashed their heads together just enough to stun them and rounded on the sages wielding pikes. Before the sages could jump at Anakin, Obi-Wan slid between them, halting the sages.

“I’ll handle this.”

“Master K—”

“Unless you want to end up like them,” Obi-Wan pointed to the groaning, disoriented sages on the ground, “I suggest you follow my lead.”

When they made no further moves to intervene, Obi-Wan pulled Anakin into his arms and bent their heads together.

“That was _so_ satisfying,” Anakin whispered.

“Hush.” He nuzzled Anakin’s cheek. “Now remember to act terrifying, darling.”

Anakin’s grin was, indeed, terrifying.

One of the pike-wielding sages took a step forward. Anakin snapped his teeth.

“He doesn’t want to go in there,” Obi-Wan said.

“Knight Skywalker will be examined.”

The two stunned sages climbed shakily to their feet.

“I’m afraid Knight Skywalker isn’t in the mood for any invasive procedures today.”

One of the stunned sages, blood leaking from their nose, said in a voice that what a mite pissed off, “The Chosen One _will_ abide by the mandate of soil and seed.”

Anakin growled at him. The sage stiffened.

“Perhaps we can come to some sort of compromise,” Obi-Wan said, palms spread in entreaty.

The sages remained in stiff silence.

 _Come on, come on, take the bait,_ Anakin thought.

 _Patience,_ thought Obi-Wan.

“Knight Skywalker _must_ be examined.”

“And he will be,” Obi-Wan said in his most soothing, aren’t-we-all-nice-reasonable-people voice. “In the halls of healing where he feels more comfortable, where he can be seen to by people he trusts.”

“That is not possible.”

Anakin struggled in Obi-Wan’s grip, shaking, snarling, spitting. He attempted to climb over Obi-Wan to get to the two stunned sages. His face was beet red, gaze fixed and murderous. Even Obi-Wan felt a chill.

“Unless you want to explain to the council why you assaulted a territorial Jedi rather than have him seen to by the temple healers, you will.”

The sage wiped the blood under their nose with the torn sleeve of their robe. Their hood obscured their entire face, but within the shadow well, Obi-Wan imagined they were sneering.

“Very well. You will accompany us to the halls of healing.”

_See you on the other side, Snips._

_You better._

Ahsoka shut the door between their minds. She left it slightly ajar. Nothing _intrusive_. Just enough to let her know if something went wrong. Force knows Anakin wouldn’t tell her himself.

Ahsoka held back an eyeroll.

For such a smart guy, her master sure was dumb sometimes.

Ahsoka strolled through the archives, browsing idly as she kept an eye out.

_There._

Rilee Stull. Senior Padawan and junior archivist. She’d been watching him for a half-hour already and nothing. Zip. Zilch. Zero movement. He appeared perfectly happy to lounge behind the checkout desk with his feet up while the rest of them busted their asses.

Ahsoka scowled and immediately admonished herself.

_C’mon. Dude’s pregnant. Give him a break._

Riley rose, hand supporting his back as he leaned over the counter to help another Jedi.

_Like, really pregnant._

The ‘really pregnant’ factor was pretty important to the plan. She should probably be less of a brat about it.

Ahsoka glanced at her chrono.

_Late. I’m late._

Ahsoka schooled her features. She couldn’t afford to screw this up by breaking cover. Anakin’s freedom was on the line. That being said, if certain pregnant assholes could just hurry the fuck up and _go pee already_ —

“What’re you sneaking around for?”

Ahsoka screamed. A hand shot out and covered her mouth, dragging her into the dark of the inner shelves. Bathed in minimal blue light from the holorecords, their face was mostly obscured, but Ahsoka would recognise that smug voice anywhere.

Ahsoka thumped him on the shoulder and took pleasure in his aborted yelp. “What the kriff, Quinlan!”

“Ow, take it easy Little ’Soka. I was just teasing.”

“Kriff off, I’m busy.”

“Is that anyway to talk to your master?”

“You’re not my master.”

“But I am _a_ master and deserving of at least some respect.” He paused. “Well—”

“I don’t have time for this,” Ahsoka hissed.

She shouldered past him and hurried to the mouth of the stacks. Rilee was behind the counter, still standing, but his brow was pinched and he was rubbing his back now, looking uncomfortable.

_Come on, come on…_

Rilee glanced in the direction of the bathroom. Ahsoka lifted on her toes, prepared to pursue.

Another Jedi approached the counter. Ahsoka bit back a curse. Then she saw who it was and let it out, " _Fucker!_ "

Quin leaned over the counter and talked to Rilee, gesticulating enthusiastically. Rilee’s tight expression faded and he smiled at Quin gratefully, accepting his offered arm.

To Ahsoka’s stunned surprise, Quin escorted Rilee to the bathroom. Quin winked at her as they passed, radiating smugness. Ahsoka followed a few lengths behind and didn’t bother to hide her scowl.

_Show off._

Just as they were approaching the men’s stall, Ahsoka quickened her pace and prepared to intervene. She intercepted them before they could go inside, blocking the door with her body.

“Woah! I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Rilee frowned. “Is everything alright?”

Ahsoka affected a queasy expression. “Someone’s breakfast _did not_ agree with them. I almost passed out from the stench alone. Trust me, you don’t want to see what’s in there.”

Rilee looked a little green just from the description and gladly took her suggestion to use the larger body stall down the hall.

As he waddled off, Quin turned to grin at her. “What’s this all about then?”

“None of your business.”

“Jedi business.” He pointed at himself. “Jedi.”

Ahsoka crossed her arms. “Who said it was Jedi business?”

Quin’s eyebrows rose slowly. “When the master’s away, the padawan will play, eh?”

 _Asshole,_ she thought. She’d make him eat her dust if she could, but her job wasn’t done yet.

“It’s not like that.”

Quin gripped her arm. “Is this for Anakin and Obi-Wan?”

The mood shifted. Gone was jovial layabout Quin and in his place was Master Vos.

“Let go of my arm.”

Quin released her, but his expression remained serious.

“What did they ask you to do?”

“Who’s asking?” Ahsoka shot back. “Their friend or _Master Vos_.”

Quin blinked rapidly. His expression lightened. He looked faintly abashed. “Ah, sorry. I’ve been…worried about them. Since last night.”

_Oh, right. He was at the selection._

“Since they banged, you mean? You shouldn't be. It can only help,” Ahsoka said reasonably. She peered over Quin’s shoulder for any sign of Rilee, but the stall door remained closed.

Quin sputtered. “How the hell do _you_ know—”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “I’m not an idiot. They’ve been mooning over each other forever.” She crossed her arms. “I mean, screw those sages, but also, like, _thank the force_ , y’know?”

Quin’s face blanked. He blinked at her. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened his mouth, closed it again.

“You’ve got eyes, kid. I’ll give you that.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Rilee slipped out the stall, looking faintly embarrassed.

 _Go time,_ she thought.

Ahsoka entered the recently vacated stall and lifted the toilet seat. She collected a sample and slipped the capsule inside the pocket of her inner robes.

“You disabled the auto-flush. Very nice.” Quin leaned against the stall door, arms crossed casually. “Only question is, why would you want a pregnant man’s pee?”

“If you’re not smart enough to figure that out, I’m _definitely_ never calling you master.”

Quin dogged her steps all the way out of the archives and didn’t let up until she yanked him into a shadowed alcove before the halls of healing.

“Are you here to get me in trouble?” Ahsoka snapped.

“Are you doing something that would get you in trouble?”

“Yes!” Ahsoka said defiantly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Quin searched her eyes. Eventually, he smiled. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Well, that’s all I needed to hear. How can I help?”

Ahsoka gaped, but quickly shut her mouth when he started grinning like a smug asshole. Ahsoka didn’t have any siblings, but if this was what having an older brother was like she was glad she was an orphan.

 _Master?_ Ahsoka asked through the crack in the door between their minds.

_Three minutes out, Snips. You ready?_

_Yep. Almost there…Quin’s with me._

_Vos?_

_Obviously._

There was a pause. He must be talking to Obi-Wan. Their connection was like an echo in the air, reverberating through the crack in the door between their minds and hers.

_Tell Quin to run interference while you’re in the exam room._

_Alright, Master…Are you sure?_

_Obi-Wan trusts him._

Anakin paused.

_Get in and get out quick, Snips. You can’t be in there when we arrive. If you think you’re not going to make it in time, get out. Don’t worry about me._

_I can do it. I don’t care if—_

_I care. Get out no matter what. That’s an order._

Ahsoka’s jaw clenched.

 _Yes, Sir,_ she bit out.

_Two minutes, Snips._

Anakin faded back into his own mind.

“Follow me,” Ahsoka said.

Quin fired off a sloppy salute. They kept to the shadows as they slipped through the halls of healing to exam room five.

“Lock the other rooms and keep a look out. Warn me if they get close.”

Quin looked like he was about to argue, but Ahsoka slipped inside the exam room before he could.

_Ninety seconds, if I’m lucky_

... _and how often are **you** lucky?_

Ahsoka worked quickly. She popped the back panel off the med droid and slipped the urine sample in the input tray. Anakin would know what to do with it. Now she just needed to break the master circuit so it couldn’t be accessed remotely—

There was a knock on the door.

Quin.

_Shitshitshit!_

Ahsoka forced herself to focus through the sudden pounding of her heart.

_Red wire, red wire, where’s the fucking red wire?_

There.

Ahsoka cut the wire.

The door opened.

"Interference is treason," said the sage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahsoka and Quin bonding time. Nothing like minor treason to bring people together.  
> (Fun fact: in my headcanon, Quin is totally the cool uncle who lets the older kids sneak liquor and spikes punchbowls at parties to liven things up. Obi-Wan is Disapproving Dad and Anakin is King of the Kids.)
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger. Not to worry, you won't be hanging too long. 
> 
> Next chapter: The Escape (part 2). The council addresses the sage-shaped elephant in the room: finally.


End file.
